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SKETCHES 



GREEN MOUNTAIN LIFE; 



AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY 



THE AUTHOR, 



BY MISS ELIZABETH ALLEN, 



Mid mountains lofty, and low verdant dells, 
Where nature in her mystic beauty dwells, 
Truth points at vice, and warns her to depart, 
While pity soothes the sad desponding heart, 



LOV/E1L. 

NATHANIEL L. DAYTON. 

1846 , 



At 



Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1845, 

BY MISS ELIZABETH ALLEN, 

in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of Massachusetts. 






JOHN PUTNAM.. ..PRTNTEP, 
31 Cornliill, Boston 



CONTENTS. 



Preface, 5 

Autobiography, ..... 7 

The Maid of the Mountain, or the Lone 

Little Cot, ...... 19 

Effects of Indulgence, .... 39 

The Mourner of the Lake, ... 55 

The Mysterious Passenger, ... 63 

Anna Rowland, or Folly and its Effects, 87 

The Transformation, .... 96 

Love and Disappointment, . . . 104 
A Travelling Adventure, . . .113 

The Victim to an Error, . . . 120 

The Deluded, ...... 134 

De Olon, . 141 



/ 



PREFACE 



The writer of these pages is peculiarly unfortu- 
nate. She has labored under every disadvantage, 
in regard to literary attainments, and makes no pre- 
tension to the honors of authorship. Her writings 
were penned for self amusement, and to while away 
the gloominess of silence, for she is entirely deaf. 
At an early age she was unfortunately deprived of 
that most essential blessing, the sense of hearing, 
which seems to have given to her after life, a tone of 
sadness. 

The reader will not look for perfection, where the 
writer is unacquainted with a grammatical rule. 
Yet her productions are not without interest, and 
many passages are worthy of much commendation. 



6 PREFACE. 

But let her productions speak their own merits. 
She has other claims. She is, as she has stated in 
her Autobiography, dependent upon her own exer- 
tions for a subsistence, and hopes through this means 
to share the sympathy of a benevolent public. 

Miss Allen's writings have the advantage of being 
entirely original, with matter of fact foundation — 
scenes which she has witnessed with her own eye, 
and terms " sketches " of the life that she herself 
has lived. 

The friend of humanity is invited to patronise her 
work, and if he does not find his reward in perusing 
its pages, as we believe that he will, he may derive 
an ample satisfaction from the consciousness of 
having imparted to the good of a fellow being. 
Let him also remember that reward is in the hands 
of Him, under whose eye a sparrow may not fall to 
the ground without notice. " He that received the 
one talent, went and hid it, and his master was wroth 
with him." Let those who would improve the gifts 
that Providence has bestowed upon them, be encour- 
aged to persevere. 

The Publisher. 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY 



In writing an autobiography, I am actuated by 
advice. As my misfortunes mast constitute its chief 
interest, it may be viewed by the vain and thought- 
less as trifling ; but I would hope there are some, 
who possess mind and feeling sufficient to call forth 
sympathy for one whose hopes have been early 
wrecked, and whose days have been fated to sad- 
ness. To such I would dedicate this volume, hoping 
that charity may go hand in hand with sympathy. 

I was born in the town of Craftsbury, Vermont, at 
a time when the place was new, there not being over 
one dozen inhabitants. My parents emigrated from 
Brookfield, Mass., and were among the first pioneers 
in Northern Vermont. We were surrounded by a 
vast tract of wilderness, which the Indian hunters 
claimed as " game land," and looked with an eye 
of jealousy upon those whom they deemed as en- 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 



croaching upon their rights, and not unfrequently 
came to our door, filling- us with consternation and 
dread, by their warlike array of rifle, tomahawk and 
scalping-knife. 

We were denied all literary privileges — three 
months at a district school, taught in our own house, 
being all the advantage I ever enjoyed. I grew up 
the child of nature, companioned with the wild bird, 
the wild flower, and the wild mountain stream — 
which upon my vivid imagination left their deep im- 
pressions. 

Providence had endowed me with a propensity, 
which disadvantages and crosses could not suppress. 
I became passionately fond of reading, and grasped 
at every thing that came in my reach ; bat to get 
possession of a novel was a supreme felicity, and I 
drinked deep from the fountains of romance. In 
writing I had no instruction, but by a self effort suc- 
ceeded in obtaining a running hand, by which I was 
led, in time, to maintain an extensive correspondence. 
But even here I was doomed to trial. I had no 
writing materials, and it was often the case that I 
resorted to a carving-knife to mend my pen, while 
my paper consisted of the blank side of an old letter — 
a leaf from a cast away account-book — and even a 
piece of brown paper, as many of my then corres- 
pondents can testify. 

From these facts, together with the truth that my 
avocations were arduous, I am led in a measure to 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 9 

a belief in fatality. That I was destined from the 
first, by my Creator, to suffer the misfortune that 
followed, and was thus by him endowed with a pro- 
pensity, calculated to lead me to a preparation for its 
endurance — how can I doubt? I may add to my 
other discouragements, the fact that I was daily per- 
secuted for deserting minor duties and amusements, 
in which others shared, for the purpose of stealing 
away to my books or pen. 

I had been favored by nature with a fine voice for 
music, which I cultivated with good success, and at 
the age of eleven years, stood in the church choir. 
But it was my greater delight, to steal away into the 
deep recesses of the wild wood, and there, distant 
from any human ear, to pour forth my thrilling notes, 
and listen to their distant, reverberating echo. 

About this time I commenced rhyming, and com- 
posed several little tragic love songs, which I some- 
times sung to my associates, but received in return 
the accusation of plagiarism, which however did not 
disturb me in the least. My spirits had ever been 
light and buoyant, every object being viewed upon 
its light side. My days were passed in song and 
mirth, and my nights were gilded with pleasant 
dreams. 

Thus passed my days, until I had numbered fifteen 
summers, when I was suddenly attacked with severe 
illness, which in the space of one short week entirely 
deprived me of the &en~e of hearing To attempt to 



10 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

portray my feelings upon this event, would be vain. 
The skill of a kind physician was doubly, exerted, 
but after the lapse of a few weeks he was compelled 
to say my case was hopeless. From that hour, I date 
my melancholy history — my trials, and my never 
ceasing regret. To live, and yet no more to hear the 
" sweet music of sound," was a thought that har- 
rowed my inmost soul. 

Grasping at a ray of hope, I have since twice sub- 
mitted to the painful operation of having the tympa- 
num, or drum of my ear, perforated, but it was at- 
tended with no effect. I was compelled to submit 
to the decree of Providence, and I would that I 
could say it was with meekness and resignation ; 
but in vain have I sought the aid of philosophy to 
subdue my tears — in vain have taxed the powers of 
reason, to convince me that " whatever is, is right " 
— regret ceases not to wring forth the tear of an- 
guish. 

The deprivation of hearing is one of the greatest 
misfortunes that can befal humanity. The deaf 
mute has no real conception of sound. He reads 
that there is such a thing — but to the remembrance 
of all its sweet variety of tones, and to the impres- 
sions they weave upon the senses, he is and must be 
a stranger. He feels no regret, for he has realized 
no loss. He is the link in the chain where nature 
placed him, and he acts accordingly. But when 
once the blessing of hearingr has been enjoyed in full 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 11 

perfection — when voices that we loved have fallen 
in sweet accents of friendship upon the ear — who can 
forget? who can cease to mourn? And who, when 
suffering the embarrassments attendant upon such a 
privation, together with the coldness and neglect 
which often fall to the lot of those who suffer mis- 
fortune, but must shrink like the sensitive plant, and 
yield his nerves to distress and trembling. 

I have before stated, that I was at an early age 
led to the composition of songs — and after the loss of 
hearing, I frequently sought diversion by " courting 
the Muses," and in the course of a few years, my 
fugitive pieces had accumulated to such an extent, 
that I was advised, by a few benevolent gentlemen, 
to arrange them for a little volume ; and accordingly, 
in 1831, they were published, by the title of " The 
Silent Harp." Though very deficient in many re- 
spects, and bearing a melancholy tone — yet they 
succeeded in a measure, since which, with a revision 
and enlargement, they have passed through a second 
edition, from which I derived some benefit. 

Through the indulgence of kind friends, I have 
been privileged with travelling, to a considerable 
extent. In 1833, I set out upon a western tour — 
during which I had the gratification of visiting many 
places of deep interest. I rode on the waters of the 
Northern and Erie Canals, through their whole ex- 
tent — and witnessed the surprising genius and perse- 
verance of the great DeWitt Clinton — whose name 



V2 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

once so conspicuous, is now sinking to forgetfulness 
by the later invention of the speedy railway. I 
passed a few weeks in the village of Geneva, where 
I was delighted with a view of the sweetest of 
America's lakes, Seneca — the waters of which ap- 
peared as pure and holy as those of the imagined 
fountain of Castalia, from whose brink poets took an 
inspiring draught. 

Rochester was next my place of transient location, 
where I was privileged many times with sitting upon 
a ledge at the top of the sweet and romantic falls of 
the Genessee river, where I imbibed feelings of ad- 
miration never before realized. The hand of nature 
must have foregone its apprenticeship, when it 
sketched this design and finished it in a manner so 
complete. 

From thence, I found myself on the way to the 
great lion of America — even the Falls of Niagara ; 
and when I approached its vicinity, and saw the 
beautiful rainbows that marked its location, my heart 
throbbed with intense emotions. A few minutes 
more, and I was standing in an elevated piazza, with 
the sublime wonder before my eyes, and truly, if 
ever one might feel the littleness of mortal man, and 
own himself a mite in the scale of existence, it must 
be when viewing this mighty work of the great and 
supreme Jehovah. I remained at this place three 
days, viewing the falls from every accessible posi- 
tion, and entered the cottage of the " Hermit of Goat 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY, 13 

Island," where the disappointed Francis Abbott 
passed years in lonely seclusion, declining all human 
intercourse. 

My course was next up the Niagara River, to the 
city of Buffalo, where I went on board the steam- 
boat North America, bound to Detroit, and braved 
the dark and threatening billows of Lake Erie. 
A deviating course led us up the Maumee River, to 
the town of Toledo, but the sickly appearance of the 
place, with its parched and crumbling soil, and waters 
so impure that nature itself rejected them, caused 
me to rejoice when we turned to retrace our way ; 
and finally at last were wafted upon the bosom of 
the Detroit River to its noble and aspiring city, 
where I passed several days in viewing its curiosi- 
ties. Here, while in the harbor, I witnessed a tre- 
mendous thunderstorm — in the midst of which a 
schooner was driven by the force of the winds into 
our vessel, her prow coming fifteen feet upon the 
middle deck and producing an astounding crash. 
No lives, however, were lost, and after a two days' 
repairing, we were again on our way down the lake ; 
but before we had attained its mid-way, we were 
assailed with high winds, which induced our captain 
to tack about and take shelter under the cover of 
Put in Bay Island, where we lay quietly during the 
night — but in the morning it was discovered that by 
means of the high surge we had become grounded, 
where we remained in a helpless condition during 



14 AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

the day. In this situation the mind turned to re- 
flection, and fancy presented to our view the fleet of 
the gallant Com. Perry, which once lay anchored at 
that identical spot, with hearts on board throbbing 
with very different emotions from those by which 
ours were moved. 

Released at length from our desponding situation, 
we proceeded to Huron, where I went on shore and 
stepped into a stage for Oberlin — celebrated as the 
seat of a manual-labor, or " black and white " Col- 
lege. Here I passed eight weeks, and was intro- 
duced to Mr. Shipherd, its founder, and two thirds 
of the three hundred students, then members of the 
institute, many of whom were females. Although 
there was much to interest, and its influence was 
apparently upon the side of virtue and improvement, 
yet I could not but think that it partook somewhat 
of the famous " blue laws " that once characterized 
our own New England Connecticut. 

From this place I proceeded to Kirtland, the then 
location of the Mormons, where I entered their 
splendid temple and saw their prophet, Joe Smith, 
surrounded by his deluded followers. In person and 
manners, he would better have answered to the 
character of a " Davy Crocket," than to the leader 
of a band who professed to be followers of the 
Saviour of mankind. But sickening at the scene, I 
soon left, and proceeded by the way of Painsville 
and Conneaut, to Buffalo, where I took a seat for 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 15 

Lewistovvn. Here, upon the heights of Queenston 
opposite, stood the stupendous monument of Brock, 
which I visited, and then went on board the steamer 
" Great Britain," bound over lake Ontario. Stopped 
a few days at the hospitable mansion of Judge 
Fisher at Oswego — proceeded to Sackett's Harbor, 
and finally landed at Ogdensburgh, where I was 
happy to find my friends and once more enjoy the 
blessings of tranquillity. 

I have given but a simple outline of this tour, and 
if it may be deemed digression, I ask the indulgence 
of my readers, and must add, that greatly as I was 
amused and diverted by the variety of scene through 
which I passed, yet the thought that I was but a 
solitary pilgrim — cut off from all verbal associations, 
was ever impressed with its melancholy truth upon 
my mind and feelings. 

I would not repine at the dealings of Providence, 
feeling sensible that I have many blessings still to 
enjoy ; but I would impress upon the minds of my 
readers, how much our enjoyment in life may depend 
upon one single sense — as when a disease fastens 
upon a part of the human system, the whole is made 
to sympathise and suffer. 

Upon returning again to the place of my nativity, 
I found my " homestead " vacant. My parents, in 
consequence of the infirmities of age, had disposed 
of their pleasant abode, and gone to a distance to 
reside with a daughter This to me was heart- 
c 



16 AUTOBIOGRAPHY, 

sickening— a blow that I could hardly support. 
Left upon the " world's wide waste," without a 
shelter from its pitiless storms, I recoiled at the 
thought. From that time I have been unsettled — 
a few months here, and a few months there, has but 
added to the weight of the misfortunes by which 
I was previously oppressed. At length my parents 
have both sunk to the silence of the grave — sisters 
and brothers are removed to a distance, and I have 
been left to an entire self-dependence, which, to- 
gether with a broken constitution and a nervous de- 
bility, renders my situation unpleasant. Yet I can 
say, " Hitherto hath the Lord helped me," and I 
would still confide in his goodness and mercy. 

Through all my various trials and afflictions, I 
have ever been blessed with kind and indulgent 
friends, which has excited my heart to continual 
gratitude. Indeed, when I sum up the numerous 
and peculiar obligations under which I have been 
placed, and think of the kindness and sympathy with 
which I have been treated, wherever located, I feel 
that I have but little cause to despond or complain ; 
and to all who have in this manner sought to alle- 
viate my sorrows, I here tender my thanks, with a 
most fervent prayer to Heaven for their everlasting 
good. 

One great source of my mental sufferings must 
be attributed to a peculiar sensibility, which is in 
fact a part of my nature and being, and which 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY, 17 

unfits me for the endurance of things that must in- 
evitably fall to the lot of the unfortunate dependent. 
An unharmonious word — an action — or even a look, 
can agitate the whole system, and throw its life 
chords into a tremor of distress. Often, in the bit- 
terness of my anguish, have I been led to exclaim, 
" Oh why had not apathy — cold enduring apathy, 
been mine." 

This sensibility is now called into action, while 
presenting these my productions to the public. The 
eye of the critic, and the sneer of the scorner, have 
their influence in causing me to hesitate and tremble. 
But I would say at once, that of the rules of gram- 
mar I have no knowledge — and make no pretensions 
to correctness, sublimity, or beauty in the construc- 
tion of my writings — but such as they are, they are 
submitted. If accepted, I shall be remunerated for 
my anxieties ; if otherwise, it may augment the bit- 
terness of that cup from which I have long been 
fated to drink. Reader, wilt thou bid me "Hope 
on ! hope ever ! ! " 



GREEN MOUNTAIN LIFE, 



THE MAID OF THE MOUNTAIN, OR 
"THE LONE LITTLE COT." 



** A lovely form) in robes of light, 
" Came gliding o'er his raptured sight, 
u Fresh garlands 'mid her tresses glowM, 
** And from her tongue sweet music ftow'd." 

It was one line moonlight evening, in September, 
when Capt. Sumner took his accustomed, contem- 
plative walk upon the banks of the silvery flowing 
Connecticut. He had proceeded some distance, with 
his eyes fixed upon the moon, and in a deep reverie, 
when his attention was suddenly arrested by a slow, 
deep-drawn sigh. Turning around, he beheld, seat- 
ed upon the margin of the stream, Col. Lovell, his 
earliest, best, and dearest friend. There was a wild- 
ness in his look, which greatly surprised and alarmed 
Capt. S. After surveying him a few moments, he 



20 GREEN MOUNTAIN LIFE. 

advanced, and tapping him on the shoulder, " Friend 
Lovell," said he, " what strange spell has bound you 
to this melancholy spot, at so late an hour? " He 
started, and rising, presented a trembling hand. He 
then took the arm of his friend and moved forward in 
silence. "As you value my happiness," continued 
the Captain, " I conjure you to tell me the cause of 
this mysterious change in your manner and deport- 
ment." "Alas! " said the Col., while tears stream- 
ed from his eyes, "know you not that I am ruined, 
irrecoverably ruined ? I have ' stricken my hand 
with a stranger ' — he has absconded, and all his 
numerous debts have devolved upon me ; — it will 
take my all. And — oh, Sumner, my family — my 
poor helpless family, what will become of them? " 
"But have you not been deceived," said the Cap- 
tain, " has not your imagination presented these 
things in an illusive or mistaken light?" "Alas! 
no, my friend — the officers have already seized my 
effects, and even the wardrobe of my wife has not 
escaped their unmerciful grasp. I repaired to that 
stream for the purpose of seeking forgetfnlness be- 
neath its wave ; but, just as I was on the point of 
executing my design, an idea suddenly rushed upon 
my brain, which was immediately adopted into a 
resolution. Yes, my dear friend Sumner, I have re- 
solved upon leaving this place forever, and with my 
family to retire to some of the wilds in Vermont, 



THE M.AID OF THE MOUNTAIN. 21 

where the finger of scorn and the smile of contempt 
may never reach us." 

Capt. Sumner felt himself quite overcome with the 
afflictions of his friend ; and had riches been at his 
disposal, would instantly have given the half for his 
relief. But, though poor in worldly substance, he 
was, nevertheless, rich in all the noble qualities of 
the mind. He led his afflicted friend to his own 
door, pressed his hand affectionately to his bosom, 
then raising his eyes to Heaven, seemed to invoke 
comfort and assistance, where it was not in his power 
to bestow it. 

Col. Lovell had been an officer in the revolutionary 
army. He had suffered various toils and privations, 
yet never, till now, had his courageous heart yielded 
to the vicissitudes of life. He married his cousin, 
Miss Mary Lovell, a young lady of superior worth 
and endowments. They had each inherited from 
their deceased parents, a handsome estate, which, 
together with his success in business, placed them on 
a level with the most opulent. He possessed a noble 
philanthropic heart, ever open to the calls of human- 
ity, which characteristic trait, opened the way to his 
threshold for numerous sons of mischance ; which, 
imperceptibly, diminished his income, and finally 
eventuated in his ruin. 

They were blessed with five lovely, promising 
children, whom they endeavored to educate according 
to their rank and expectations in life. Lucilla, their 



GREEN MOUNTAIN LIFE. 



only surviving daughter, was, at the age of twelve,, 
sent to a boarding-school in Boston, where she had 
continued three years. She was then suddenly re- 
called ; and what were the emotions of her heart,, 
when informed it was for the purpose of bidding an 
eternal farewell to the dear scenes of her childhood. 
The story of their misfortunes fell like a thunder- 
clap upon her hitherto gay and sorrowless heart, and 
she wept in the bitterness of extreme anguish. Ac- 
customed from infancy to all the indulgences which 
affluence can bestow, she knew not how to assimilate 
herself to the manners of the peasant maid. 

Yet this was not the cause of her deepest sorrow. 
There was a feeling that entered still deeper into the 
recesses of her sensible heart. The sufferings of her 
parents — how could she endure to see them in the 
decline of life, deprived of necessary comforts. From 
infancy she had manifested a peculiar affection for 
them, and her whole existence seemed to depend 
upon their smiles. Her constitution was naturally 
delicate, which gave to a transparent complexion a 
lily whiteness. Her eyes were black and over her 
shoulders fell a profusion of auburn tresses, which 
with a countenance remarkably expressive, and a 
faultless form, could not fail to render her very beau- 
tiful. She was then just entering her sixteenth year r 
the time of life when hope buds profusely for its 
gayest blossoms. 

CoL Lovell, according to his resolution, set out, 



THE MAID OF THE MOUNTAIN. 23 

immediately, in search of his intended retirement. 
In the northwestern part of Vermont, he entered a 
mountainous township, without inhabitants, save the 
wild beasts of the forest, and there he selected a spot. 
To the lover of nature, it was beautifully situated. 
It was a gentle declivity upon the side of a mountain, 
and was crowned with sugar-maple, beach, birch, 
and the aspiring fir tree. It also presented a singular 
and most romantic landscape. To the eastward might 
be seen numerous little villages, with their rising 
church spires, which, however, were separated from 
the beholder, by a seemingly impassable gulf be- 
tween. The south presented the head of a nameless 
mount, which appeared as if placed as a barrier to all 
intercourse with that section of the world. The west 
was one immense forest, raising their heads one 
above the other as in imitation of the human race, 
while the northern view rested upon a large blue 
sheet of water extending beyond the occular reach. 

A murmuring rivulet passed through this charming 
spot, by the side of which Col. L. commenced erect- 
ing a cottage with his own hands. It was composed 
of the rude forest trees, bereft of their branches, and 
placed one above the other, in imitation of the little 
urchin ' s " cob palace . ' ' 

The following spring found him with his beloved 
family tenants of the " Lone little Cot." There was 
not a human dwelling for many miles around, though 



24 GREEN MOUNTAIN LIFE. 

a public road had been surveyed, and partially cut 
through the forest, which passed directly by their 
door. 

Lucilla was at first quite appalled at the striking- 
contrast between this and her former situation. In a 
rude cot — in a wild wood — not a human dwelling in 
view — had it not been for the presence of her parents 
and brothers, she might have inhaled the doctrine of 
transmigration, and imagined herself a cotemporary 
being with the wild animals around her. But this 
ideal mania soon subsided, and she began to manifest 
an interest in the surrounding scenery. She had, 
while at school, manifested a peculiar taste for the 
study of Natural Philosophy, which she had pursued 
in advance of every other science. It was now of 
the greatest advantage to her, in diverting her mind 
from gay and fashionable amusements, yet there were 
scenes which she could not banish from memory. 
The companions of her childhood, the more recent 
and dearer ties of friendship formed at the seminary, 
rushed upon her feelings with irresistible force, till 
the silent tear flowed profusely ; yet would she never 
permit her parents to witness her weakness, but, 
stealing away, she followed the windings of the 
brook, or listened to the songs of the warblers above 
her head, till her own soul vented its feelings in 
plaintive harmony. Birds listened in turn, while she 
sung,—. 



THE MAID OF THE MOUNTAIN. 25 

" I have an eye that sees, a heart that feels 

" The charms which nature throws o'er lawn and lea, 

" Yet o'er my breast a frequent sadness steals 

" To think how far I roam from home and thee." 

Mrs. Lovell, from the time they entered the cot- 
tage, began to droop and decline. The mountainous 
air was too severe for a constitution which had been 
nursed upon the mild breezes of the Connecticut. 
She was seized with a nervous affection, which in a 
few months confined her to her bed. This was a 
source of intense grief to Lucilla, who attended upon 
her with all the assiduity of the most devoted nurse. 
She ranged the surrounding wood in search of aro- 
matic or stimulative herbs, which she prepared with 
a skillful hand. 

Thus passed the two first years of their voluntary 
exile. Stern winter, with its cheerless gloom, had 
again passed away, and smiling spring was adorning 
her mountain scenes in new and lovely robes. The 
only society Lucilla had met, out of their own little 
affectionate and ever harmonious circle, was the 
passing traveller, who, wearied with climbing the 
adjacent mountain, called frequently at the cottage, 
for rest or refreshment, where he was ever welcomed 
with a cordial reception, while the best the house 
afforded was set before him ; and it was only when 
his curiosity prompted him to inquire into their his- 
tory or native place that he felt himself reproached 
by silence. 



26 GREEN MOUNTAIN LIFE. 

It was about the middle of May, when, one eve^ 
ning just before sunset, a dark cloud was observed 
rising in the west, accompanied by flashes of light- 
ning. Soon the slow, heavy, rolling thunder was 
heard. It called forth gloomy feelings. The in- 
mates of the cottage surrounded the bed of the lan- 
guishing sufferer, where a corresponding sympathy 
beamed in every eye. The wind rushed furiously 
against the dwelling, and the rain began to descend 
in torrents. Lucilla suddenly started from her seat. 
"Papa," said she, "I heard a human voice as if 
from some one in distress." " No my dear," he re- 
plied, "it must have been the wind as it assailed 
some previously wrenched or half dislocated tree." 
She reseated herself, and they all sat in listening 
silence, when a loud rap was heard at the door. 
Col. Lovell hastened to open it, when a young gen- 
tleman, apparently in a bewildered state, entered the 
room. " For Heaven's sake," said he, " take pity on 
a forlorn stranger." They all rose up, as he pro- 
nounced this ejaculation, and volunteered their ser- 
vices. His coat was streaming with water, which 
Lucilla requested him to throw off. At the sound of 
her voice, he started, gazed upon her a moment, and 
exclaimed, " Where am I ? Is it a dream, or am I 
really in a wild wood cottage?" His nerves were 
so tremulous, from sudden excitement, that they 
found it necessary to lead him immediately to a bed, 
where, after administering a cup of tea, they gave 



THE MAID OF THE MOUNTAIN. 27 

him a few drops of laudanum, which soon composed 
him into a gentle slumber, from which he did not 
awake till morning. 

It was Frederick Taft, a young gentleman of for- 
tune from New York, who, upon finding his health 
in a declining state, had sought a more northern cli- 
mate, as a restorative. Having an uncle residing in 
Vermont, he repaired to his dwelling, where, after 
spending a few weeks, he resolved upon exploring 
the adjacent mountains, both for the purpose of in- 
vigorating his constitution and viewing a scene, to 
him, so entirely new. 

The "Lone little Cot" upon the mountain had 
become quite famous in the vicinity around, as a con- 
venience to the traveller ; but little was known of its 
occupants, save that they were a very obliging peo- 
ple. Consequently, it was quite a matter of indiffer- 
ence to Frederick, and excepting the idea that it 
might afford him a shelter for the night, he thought 
no more about it, and proceeded on in the direction of 
the mountain. Amusing himself with each curiosity 
that came in his way, he was unconscious of the 
hasty lapse of time, till he discovered it was near 
night-fall. He then quickened his pace, in the hope 
of being near the cottage. But his ear was suddenly 
arrested by the sound of distant thunder, and in spite 
of his greatest efforts to elude the storm, he was 
overtaken. Gloomy darkness first settled around him, 
but the scene was soon reversed. The vivid blaze of 



28 GREEN MOUNTAIN LIFE. 

the terrific lightning — the awfulness of the deafening 
thunderclap, with its solemn echo upon the sur- 
rounding mountains — the wind, howling tremendous- 
ly in the tops of the forest trees — all conspired to 
bewilder his senses, and, dismounting from his horse, 
he dropped the rein, and with a loud cry of terror 
rushed forward, unconscious of the course he was 
pursuing, when he fortunately caught a glimpse of 
the lamp at the cottage window. 

Upon rising in the morning he withdrew the cur- 
tain, which alone separated him from the family, and 
with an animated smile, gave the compliment " good 
morning." Lucilla eagerly inquired how he had 
rested, and if he felt himself refreshed; to which he 
replied, "My rest has been sound and sweet, and I 
never felt so truly happy in my life as at the present 
moment." 

The breakfast equipage was soon in readiness, 
and Lucilla presided over their simple repast with the 
same ease and politeness as if she had been in their 
former elegant mansion, surrounded with all the 
superfluities to which she had been accustomed. 
This did not escape the observation of Frederick, 
whose countenance denoted a surprising interest in 
all he saw or heard. Rising from the table he said, 
rather archly, " Miss Lovell, this is a most delight- 
ful morning, — will you not be kind enough to ac- 
company me into your flower garden? " "O yes," 
she replied, with cheerfulness, "yet you must not 



THE MAID OF THE MOUNTAIN. 29 

expect me to accompany you through the whole 
dimension, as it is very large, and would require 
more time than my domestic avocations will admit to 
point out to yon all its various plants and flowers. 
"Indeed ! and pray, madam, by what means do you 
cultivate such a vast garden 1 Do you keep a gar- 
dener?" "O yes, — Dame Nature takes all care 
from me in that department, and dresses every thing 
after her own taste, in the most interesting manner." 
"Then you have really been imposing upon me," 
said he smilingly. " No sir, by no means ; there is 
nothing in art, to my view, to be compared with na- 
ture, in beauty and sublimity. The nicely cultivated 
garden may charm for a while, but it soon loses its 
variety, and consequently its interest, while a ramble 
in this wild wood is ever presenting some new plant 
or flower to excite my admiration ; and besides they 
bloom in the shade, and wither not from the too fre- 
quent touch of the vulgar throng." "But, Miss 
Lovell, you will acknowledge that an intercourse 
with the literary, at least, not to say fashionable 
world, is indispensably necessary to qualify a mind 
for the enjoyment of rural nature like this." — 
Lucilla blushed and was silent. 

It was from such discourses as this, that Frederick 
discovered what a rare flower was blooming in that 
lonely wild, and he resolved to discover its origin and 
native soil. Accordingly, he requested permission to 



30 GREEN MOUNTAIN LI?E. 

spend a week, as he said, to improve his health* 
which was cheerfully complied with. 

During this time, while he was artfully endeavor- 
ing to study a character, in which he felt himself so 
deeply interested, his own was gradually developing, 
for it was a no less discriminating eye that watched 
the movements of his own soul. He was truly an 
amiable being, tender and affectionate. There was a 
frank sincerity in his disposition which could not be 
mistaken ; but he was gay and of a lively turn, in- 
clining to volatility, which unfitted him for " nature's 
devotee." Nevertheless, he saw and felt a charm, 
in scenes 

(t So modest and so lovely." 

Yet it did not leave its deep and lasting impression 
upon his senses, but was succeeded by the opposite 
charm of the splendid hall, or the elegant pleasure 
party. 

" How frequently the living passages 

" Of nature's book are opened, and how few 

" Are the high hearts that know them, and can feel 

" Their eloquence and beauty." 

The lily whiteness of Lucilla's cheek had from her 
frequent rambles in a pure air, yielded to a rose- 
crimson, which added a new charm to her features. 
Before the expiration of the week, Frederick felt 
himself almost an "age in love." He had by his 



THE MAID OP THE MOUNTAIN. 31 

friendly assiduity, succeeded in obtaining from Col. 
and Mrs. Lovell, all their history, and it afforded him 
a secret pleasure, to think it was in his power to re- 
lieve them. On taking- leave of Mrs. L. he laid upon 
her pillow a ten dollar bill, then turning to Lucilla 
slipped a valuable ring upon her finger, and accord- 
ing to their request, promised soon to visit them 
again. 

Mrs. Lovell continued to decline, and the day after 
Mr. Taft's departure, she suffered a paralytic stroke 
which had nearly proved fatal. Lucilla felt a peculiar 
depression of spirits. The increase of her mother's 
illness, together with the departure of so interesting 
a friend and companion, rendered her little dwelling 
not unlike the " house of mourning." 

However, but few days had passed, when as she 
was sitting by her bed and fanning the pale features 
of her mother, as she slept, the door was suddenly 
opened, and Frederick Taft entered, followed by a 
young lady. He started on beholding her occupa- 
tion, and the pallid features of her mother — she arose 
— he extended his hand. " Permit me, Miss Lovell," 
said he, "to make you acquainted with my cousin, 
Miss Emma Seldon." 

An unspeakable joy beamed in Lucilla's eye, as 
she extended her hand, and led Miss Seldon to a 
chair. Two long years and above had passed, since 
she had seen a female form, except her mother. 
Frederick apologised for the seeming intrusion, and 



32 GREEN MOUNTAIN LIFE. 

declared he had solicited his cousin to brave the dan- 
gers of the mountain, as he was resolved to effect an 
acquaintance between them. 

Miss Seldon was not a young lady of deep refine- 
ment, — her advantages had been limited to her own 
little town circle, consequently she did not, at first 
view, appear prepossessing. Yet she possessed many 
excellent qualities of mind, and was sure, upon ac- 
quaintance, to rise in esteem. 

Frederick had, from the moment he left the cot- 
tage, felt a resistless desire to return. Lucilla ap- 
peared to his view, a being of angel perfection, and 
he thought, could he but call her his own, his earthly 
bliss would be complete. But he was well aware, 
that this could not be easily effected. The ill state 
of Mrs. L.'s health, their determination to mingle no 
more with the world, and above all, Lucilla' s attach- 
ment to them, seemed to be almost insurmountable 
obstacles. Yet he resolved to make her an offer of 
his heart and hand, feeling assured that life without 
her society, would possess no charm. Accordingly, 
he repaired once more to the cottage, accompanied 
by his cousin, determined, ere he left it again, to 
know his fate. 

The morning after their arrival, he said, " Come 
Emma, you must now try your skill as a nurse, while 
Miss Lovell walks abroad, to recruit her spirits, upon 
the fragrant morning breezes." Emma readily as- 
sented, and taking the arm of Lucilla, they passed 



THE MAID OF THE MOUNTAIN. 33 

the open enclosure, and entered a grove of fir trees. 
Her almost idolized brook was murmuring- through 
it, and they seated themselves upon a knoll by its 
side. There, after some hesitation, he told her all 
the emotions of his heart. " Yes, dear Lucilla," 
said he, taking her hand, " all my happiness depends 
upon you. Life to me, without your affection, will 
be but a blank — an insipid existence ; and can you 
be so cruel as to seal my hapless doom ? " " Dear 
Frederick," she replied, " to deny that you have from 
our first acquaintance possessed a superior interest in 
my heart, would be doing my candor injustice — yet 
have I sought to guard against a growing sentiment 
in your favor. Conscious as I am, that it is not in 
my power to act according to the natural dictates of 
my heart. I am bound to this spot by a sacred tie. 
While my beloved and heart-broken parents have ex- 
istence, may it never be in my nature to forsake 
them." " But, Lucilla, they shall go with us, and 
your brothers too. The ample fortune I possess is 
sufficient for us all ; and it shall not be spared, in 
contributing to their ease and comfort." "Alas! 
Frederick, you know not what you say. All the 
gold of Ophir would not tempt them to leave this 
spot. Here they have sought retirement from a vain 
world, and yonder knoll they have selected as a rest 
from their sorrows." " Then my dreams of felicity 
are at an end. I have nothing to hope." " Yes — I 
am not bound to this spot by any vows ; but by pa- 



34 GREEN MOUNTAIN LIFE. 

rental affection alone. Sorrow has left a too visible 
trace upon their features. In a few years, I may be 
left an orphan upon this lonely wild. Then, the 
friend who is now inexpressibly dear, if in existence, 
must be to my forlorn heart, invaluable." "I un- 
derstand you, Lucilla. Yes, and while I applaud that 
virtue, so noble, so firm, — may I never forget the 
lovely image in which it is enshrined. Believe me, 
I will enter into no other engagement while there is 
a hope remaining of you. In a few days, I must re- 
turn to my friends. Keep that ring in remembrance 
of him who can never forget." 

They returned to the cottage, but evidently under 
increased depression of spirits, which was noted by 
Emma with apparent concern. 

Two days subsequently, they took their departure. 
The separation was affecting, but Emma had prom- 
ised to maintain a correspondence with Lucilla, and 
also with her cousin, by which means they hoped to 
hear frequently from each other. 

Again was she left to her solitary duty of " watch- 
ing and weeping beside a weary sufferer." Mrs. 
Lovell lingered till the following spring, when her 
spirit took its aerial flight. She died under the influ- 
ence of another paralytic stroke, which deprived her 
of her senses. Several families had now emigrated 
into the neighborhood, and assisted by them, she was 
borne to her silent home upon the shady knoll. How 
cheerless the cottage now appeared to its mourning 



THE MAID OF THE MOUNTAIN. 35 

inmates. The deep responding sigh resounded from 
each bosom, while tears fell copiously from the cheeks 
of the forlorn Col. Lovell. 

The following summer was literally a blank in the 
existence of Lucilla, — and excepting that she was, 
now and then, cheered by a letter from her friend 
Emma, containing some kind remembrance from 
Frederick, her mind dwelt continually upon gloomy 
scenes. 

But the placid autumn at length arrived, and 
brought with it an unlooked for joy. Her eldest 
brother, who had been absent on a visit to his native 
place, returned, and presented to her Eliza Sumner, 
a darling playmate, as a sister. This was truly a 
joyful event, and for a while her sorrows were nearly 
drowned in heart-felt joy. 

But alas ! Providence had still greater trials in store 
for her. Her beloved father began to sink under the 
weight of his sorrows, and fell into a rapid decline. 
The management of the family was left to her sister 
Eliza, while she devoted her whole attention to him. 

In this manner the dreary winter passed away. 
The anniversary of her mother's decease arrived ; — 
she was sitting by his bed, and conversing with her 
father upon that mournful event, when a stranger 
entered. He presented a letter from Miss Seldon. 
Lucilla hastily broke the seal, and commenced perus- 
ing it with an elated smile — when, suddenly, the 
letter fell from her hand, and she exclaimed " O my 



36 GREEN MOUNTAIN LIFE. 

God," and sunk lifeless upon the floor. Half an 
hour elapsed ere she was restored to perfect con- 
sciousness. She first called for the letter, and point- 
ing a passage to Eliza, she read thus : — " It pains 
my heart to be the instrument of sad tidings to you, 
but I must proceed on my painful duty. Frederick 
— my beloved cousin — your friend — is no more. He 
was drowned in attempting to step from a boat upon 
the quay. As I took up a New York paper this 
morning, my eye instantly rested upon the fatal pas- 
sage." 

Lucilla felt that her cup was indeed full. In all 
her previous hours of gloom, she had looked to the 
south upon a "bright particular star" which now 
had set forever ; and her sun was fast upon its de- 
cline, in the existence of an only and adored parent. 

At length that awful hour arrived ; she heard his 
" last expiring sigh," and with her own hand closed 
his eyes. Then it was that she looked abroad upon 
the wide world — all her chief ties were broken — she 
felt a desolation rush upon her soul, and a moment 
after, a calmness succeeded. 

" There is a period in the wreck of hopes, 
By the affections garnered, calmer, far, 
Than an untried serenity. It comes 
With the stern conflict ever, and awaits 
The passage of that hour, as if the soul 
Were girded, and had championed suffering. 
And it is strange, how a weak human heart, 
Will thus be quiet , ?; 



THE MAID OF THE MOUNTAIN. 37 

The funeral solemnities being over, Lucilla went, 
for the first time, on a visit to her friend Emma. 
Most consoling was the pure sympathy which flowed 
from the bosom of that affectionate girl. She con- 
sented to spend a few weeks with Emma, and no ex- 
ertion was spared to alleviate that calm and silent 
sorrow which had settled upon her mind. Mr. Sel- 
don was a wealthy farmer ; his lands abounded with 
many romantic scenes, to which Emma daily led her 
friend, and was happy to discover that her taste for 
" nature's lovely scenes " was not entirely destroyed 
by untimely sorrows. 

One afternoon, as they were returning from a 
ramble, they saw a gentleman advancing to meet 
them. They were surprised. He advanced hastily, 
and, the next moment, Frederick ! — Lucilla ! — was 
articulated, while he clasped her in his arms. 

It was indeed Frederick Taft ; nor had he been 
drowned, as was supposed, but the accident actually 
befell a young gentleman by the same name, who was, 
however, a stranger in New York. He had heard of 
the death of Col. Lovell, and hastened to offer con- 
solation to a heart which he was sensible must be 
near breaking. Never was there a greater relief pre- 
sented in the form of humanity ; and in a few days, 
after visiting the "lone little cot," dropping the 
tributary tear upon the graves of her lamented parents, 
taking an affectionate leave of her brothers and sisters, 
she set out with Mr. Taft, accompanied by Emma, 



38 GREEN MOUNTAIN LIFE. 

for his pleasant mansion in New York, where, in the 
presence of his numerous friends, she gave him her 
hand, and still lives a blessing to her beloved husband, 
and an ornament to her sex. 



EFFECTS OF INDULGENCE. 



" Train up a child in the way he should go and when he 
is old he will not depart from it." — Solomon. 

There is perhaps no evil so apparently trifling in 
its commencement, and which carries with it upon 
the stage of life greater or more important effects, 
than excessive indulgence. The child who in infancy 
is permitted to exercise his own will, in defiance of 
parent or guardian, is sure to grasp the leading rein, 
for which he will contend through life, even though 
it be at the expense of his own, and the happiness 
of all around him. 

" You will surely spoil your child by this foolish 
indulgence," said a sage lady to her sister; "I see 
he has got the reins entirely in his own hands, and 
exercises naughty will at pleasure. If his infantile 
years alone were concerned, I should not think it a 
matter of so much consequence ; but, believe me, 



40 GREEN MOUNTAIN LIFE. 

should you live to see the day when your son arrives 
to manhood, the hour will come, when in the bitter- 
ness of grief, you will wish he had sunk from your 
arms to the grave." 

How this admonition was relished by Mrs. Cole- 
man, (the lady addressed,) the reader may imagine, 
but the sequel is to follow. 

Fourteen years had winged their silent course, and 
Howard Coleman stood an actor on "life's busy 
stage." A more perfect model of manly comeliness 
never met the admiring eye. Tall and erect — when- 
ever he moved, a harmonious symmetry seemed to 
act upon all his physical powers, rendering him at 
once an object of universal admiration. His features 
were in unison, bearing deeply the lines of every 
pleasing variation of mind, and the parents of many 
a dwarfish lad envied the possession of such a son. 
In whatever circle he moved, the voice of adulation 
was sure to reach his ear, while a smile from his 
divine countenance was considered by the " leading 
belle " as a most peculiar favor. 

But I have been describing him abroad — in the 
circles of fashion — where by the world in general, 
character is judged, but I now beg permission to turn 
and follow him to the domestic fireside, where alone 
character may be seen as it is. 

Maj. Coleman was a wealthy stockholder, residing 
upon the banks of the noble and beautiful Connecti- 
cut river, in Vermont. Mellissa and Howard were 



EFFECTS OF INDULGENCE. 41 

his two only surviving children, the latter of whom 
rose, towering far above his elder sister, who, less 
favored by nature with external graces, and feeling 
sensible of neglect therefrom, grew a modest, unas- 
suming flower, and 

"Dwelt unseen." 

The gay circles in which her brother moved " a 
bright particular star," soon lost their attractions to 
her, and possessing naturally a reflective mind, deeply 
cultivated and disciplined by education, her thoughts 
became deep also, and turning from the delusive vani- 
ties of earth, she yielded to a propensity for retire- 
ment, and at the age of twenty became an amiable 
recluse, 

Howard was considered by his parents as little in- 
ferior to an angel. No caprice which his ''evil 
genius " could invent, was for a long time sufficient 
to call forth correction, till at length his waywardness 
growing more intolerable, they concluded to assume 
a mild government, but it was too late — a high spirit 
had risen, unrestrained — self-will had become rooted, 
and the bare intimation that he was not acting right, 
stimulated him to persevere in the wrong, as by that 
means he sought conquest. 

Among his early propensities, was an ardent love 
of romance — novels, being seized with avidity, and 
their, to him, savory contents devoured with greedi- 
ness.. The Bible and its precepts were entirely dis- 



42 GREEN MOUNTAIN LIFE. 

regarded, as were all other publications of a serious 
order, while he worshipped with his whole soul, 
Moore and Byron. His parents, though professed 
followers of the Redeemer of mankind, were never" 
theless so infatuated with the rising promise of their 
son, as to withhold reproof, and not unfrequently 
were seen to smile at his witty sarcasms upon the 
"hypocrisy of Methodists," the "priestcraft of 
Calvinists," and the " abomination of all Christian 
creeds." 

A certain author has remarked that " a character 
without love is incomplete," and so thought Mrs. 
Coleman, for she had early planned a match for her 
son, with the daughter of an intimate friend— a young 
lady of real merit, and heiress to a large estate — ■ 
whom she never failed to send for at vacation times, 
when Howard came home from college, to help form 
plans for his amusement. But, unfortunately, his 
powers of perception discovered her art, and conse- 
quently the sylph-like form, the seraph voice, the 
countless qualities of mind, together with her pecuni- 
ary expectations, were viewed by him with cold and 
scornful indifference ; while Miss Inglesby had the 
misfortune of failing to win from him 

" One soft, soul moving strain — ■ 

Or one impassioned lay." 

At length Mrs. Coleman had the mortification to 
learn that Howard had manifested a partiality for a 



EFFECTS OP INDULGENCE. 43 

poor orphan girl, who came blushing from her con- 
cealment among the northern mountains, to seek the 
hospitality of a " well-off-to-do " cousin, who resided 
but a few doors from Maj. Coleman's princely man- 
sion. The unaffected beauty of Miss Sidney, to- 
gether with a modest innocence of manners, attracted 
unusual attention ; and when Howard saw her enter 
the church, arrayed in a plain white "shepherds 
dress" with her rosy cheeks contrasting so charm- 
ingly, the spring of romance rushed up afresh in his 
bosom, and imagination portrayed her as an angel in 
disguise, whom the fates had assuredly dropped upon 
his path, both for the purpose of rendering happy his 
mortal existence, and for avenging the insult that had 
been offered by his adoring mother, who had presum- 
ingly selected Miss Inglesby as his companion. 

The humble dwelling of Mr. Lawrence now be- 
came the place of his daily resort, and the fair 
stranger the object of his fondest and deepest, interest ; 
while she, timid as the fawn of her own mountain 
cliff, shrank from his earnest gaze, as does the tender 
floweret from the rays of a glaring noon-day sun. 
But at length, having reached the height of his ro- 
mance, and imagined his Irena a real goddess, whom 
he designed to improve by a finished education, he 
determined to make his sentiments known, and for 
that purpose choose an opportunity when her friends 
were absent. On entering the parlor, without cere- 
mony, he caught a glimpse of her form as she glided 



44 GREEN MOUNTAIN LIFE. 

throug-h an opposite door, and sought refuge in the 
vine-screened summer house. Thither he followed, 
and discovered her suffering the most intense agitation 
from terror. " For Heaven's sake," said he, " Miss 
Sidney, why do you flee my presence as would the 
hunted deer from the fangs of the fierce hounds? 
Have I in any way given you occasion to doubt my 
esteem, honor, and friendship ? No ; I can most 
conscientiously defy you to say so. Do not tremble, 
but believe me, from the hour I first saw you, you 
have been the object of my undivided admiration, and 
it was for the purpose of offering you both my heart 
and hand that I have thus sought you. Will you — 
can you wring my heart, and blight my hopes by a 
rejection? No! no ! ! " 

Irena's fortitude instantly returned, as with a blush 
of indignation mantling her cheek, she energetically 
replied — " Far be it from me, Mr. Coleman, a hum- 
ble cottage girl, to treat you with reprimand ; yet, 
believe me, sir, though born in a forest and uneducat- 
ed — though unused to the wiles of the crafty and the 
designs of the deceiver — still I have that principle 
within my breast that teaches me to resent imposition 
from any one, but more especially from those whom 
fortune has blessed w r ith superior advantages, and 
whose duty it should be to respect and defend, rather 
than insult the lowly." 

A firmness like this was unexpected, and Howard 
felt himself disconcerted. But "assurance," savs 



EFFECTS OF INDULGENCE. 45 

an author, " may become doubly sure," and Irenawas 
at last prevailed upon to believe. Obtaining a promise 
of her hand whenever circumstances should permit a 
settlement, he saw the object of his affections placed 
at a boarding school ; and then by " fiery ambition 
led," he sought, eagerly sought, to win 

« Earth's delusive honors, and to raise 
A fame imperishable." 

Already in possession of a civil office, he sought by 
flatteries to obtain favors ; but it was not to the man 
of principle that he looked for his friend and associate, 
but to him who, defying the basis of all rational hap- 
piness, in the pursuit of virtue, seeks in the gratifica- 
tion of unhallowed passions, enjoyments which con- 
science refuses to ratify, and thus by creating a tumul- 
tuous warfare in the recesses of his bosom, is led on 
in the pathway of vice till his course terminates in 
certain ruin. 

Rumor became busy. It was, by some, reported 
that Howard Coleman was becoming strangely alter- 
ed ; by others, that his temper was getting bad ; yet 
all agreed that his adoration of Irena Sidney was 
continually augmenting ; that he felt a peculiar pride 
in escorting her from place to place, where he was 
invariably complimented, for she was indeed the 
" flower of the river valley " to which she had been 
transferred, and he indulged in his conquest, feelings 
of transport. But the cheek of Irena grew suddenly 



46 GREEN MOUNTAIN LIFE. 

pale ; her vivacity forsook her, and she became pen- 
sive and thoughtful. Report had made its way even 
to the sanctuary of her own apartment, and she was 
reluctantly compelled to believe that the chosen part- 
ner of her future days had imbibed habits of intem- 
perance — frequented the gambling table, and grossly 
abused his confiding parents. The latter fact was 
peculiarly afflictive, as she had been sensible to their 
over fondness, and felt assured that it could have pro- 
ceeded from no less a cause than reproof, merited 
reproof, for his prominent failing. Her gentle heart 
was alive to the impulses of pure virtue, and she had 
too often lamented the error of one whom, though 
deeply beloved, she would fain have admonished. 

One evening the sensibilities of her heart had yielded 
to a copious flood of tears, when Howard suddenly 
entered, and throwing himself upon the sofa, for a 
few moments remained silent. At length, he said, 
" Miss Sidney, what does this mean? I conjure you 
to tell me ; has the cursed tale reached your ears 
also ? Has that recreant, miserly old father of mine 
sent his messenger to steel your bosom also against 
his much injured son?" "No, no!" she replied, 
" but why, dear Howard, those harsh, those unjust 
epithets against your honored parent? Surely his 
fatherly kindness and patient forbearance demand 
a very different return." "Are you, Miss Sidney," 
said he, " to be a judge between my father's concerns 
and mine ? I had thought the obligations my bounty 



EFFECTS OF INDULGENCE. 47 

has lavished upon you might have excited a more 
humble — a — but — " "Hear me, Mr. Coleman," said 
she, " much and deeply as I feel the sense of obliga- 
tion to you — much as I love and revere — I must not, 
cannot remain silent, when by pointing out a single 
error I may thereby save you from impending ruin." 

"Error! error! did you say Miss Sidney? — and 
have you already forgotten your dependence?" 

" No, oh no ! dear Howard, I feel it, deeply feel it, 
while at this moment I solemnly conjure you to fly 
from that error, that death leading error — oh ! flee 
from intemperance — or with you must perish the fond 
hopes of your parents, and of your affectionate Irena. ' ' 

"Oh! ye gods!" said he, " has it come to this?" 
and casting a look of withering defiance at Irena, 
darted from her presence. 

Day after day, week after week, was the wretched, 
the abandoned Coleman seen to pass the doors of his 
parental dwelling (for he had left its protection,) on 
his way to haunts of vice and dissipation, wheie 
each day he plunged still deeper into the vortex. 

"At length he sunk — and disappointment stood 

His only comforter, and mournfully 

Told all was past. His interest in life, 

In being, ceased; and now he seemed to feel, 

And shuddered as he felt, his powers of mind 

Decaying in the spring-time of his day." 

That self-will, so early imbibed, seemed still to 



48 GREEN MOUNTAIN LIFE. 

seek gratification in wounding the hearts which he 
was in duty bound to alleviate and soothe. He was 
not unfrequently seen to reel from intoxication, while 
his parents looked mournfully upon their son. His 
means at length became exhausted, and he had not 
wherewith to purchase a morsel of bread. In this 
situation he meditated suicide ; and, seizing a razor, 
repaired in the evening to a deep forest, resolved to 
sever the tie that held him to existence, and thus to 
plant the dagger still deeper in the hearts of those 
whom he desired to afflict. Seating himself under 
the branches of a pine tree, he sought a few moments 
reflection, ere he took leave of time, and calling to 
mind the parting scene with his parents, and Irena, 
his passions became highly inflamed, and revenge, 
revenge! became the language of his whole soul. 
" Now," said he, "is the moment ;" and unpinning 
his collar, leaned his head against the tree, and raised 
the fatal instrument — at the same time giving an up- 
ward glance with his eyes, as he exclaimed " fare- 
well world, fare — " — at that instant the moon rushed 
suddenly from behind a cloud, and his eyes rested 
upon the face of the planet. His hand released its 
grasp — the instrument fell — and a trembling seized 
his whole frame. His frenzied mind beheld in that 
planet the frowning face of his Divine Maker, and he 
shrunk from the piercing glance. A perspiration, 
cold as death, crept over his brow, and springing 
upon his feet, hesitated which way to flee from his 



EFFECTS OF INDULGENCE. 49 

dreadful wrath. All his crimes at once arose, and 
stared him in the face. He felt an instantaneous 
conviction that he had been guided by the ' ' father of 
evil ' ' — that true contrition , and an amendment of his 
errors, could alone restore him to lost happiness. 
After revolving- upon his situation till day light ap- 
peared, he returned to his lodging, where he penned 
a contritious letter to his parents, declaring himself 
** unworthy to be called their son," or to come into 
their presence. He also directed an unfinished note 
to Miss Sidney, in which he begged forgiveness for 
the past, and assured her he would no more come 
into her presence until by reformation he should be- 
come more worthy. After sealing and directing 
them, he walked away, yet in what direction no one 
could ascertain, and no trace of him could be found. 
From the moment when, with a look so terrific, 
Howard left the apartment of Miss Sidney, her forti- 
tude vanished ; and though she was conscious of 
having said no more than imperative duty demanded, 
yet she felt that he was lost to her — lost forever — that 
all those fond imaginings which had so sweetly be- 
guiled her former hours, and on which she had erected 
her hopes of future happiness, were but the illusions 
of a dream from which she had now awaked to 
wretched reality. She would fain have returned to 
her place of nativity to seek peace and shelter among 
its ever green mountains, which she regretted that 
she had left, or trusted in the fickle smile of capri- 



50 GREEN MOUNTAIN LIFE. 

cious fortune ; but Mr. Coleman entreated her to make 
his house her home ; to consider him as her father, 
and Melissa as a sister, for whom her recent affliction 
rendered her a congenial companion. 

One year had already elapsed since the departure 
of Howard, and Maj. Coleman having closed his 
prosperous business, yielded to the effects of that 
unspeakable sorrow which the heart of a fond parent 
can only imagine. With a broken constitution, and 
derangement of his nervous system, he retired to his 
apartment, where his wife had long remained a sor- 
rowful invalid ; and except the society of Melissa and 
Irena, who sought to soothe and cheer their declining 
days, they seldom saw any one ; and the mansion 
that was once open to the fashionable and the gay, 
was now denominated the " Monastery." 

"Oh!" said Mrs. Coleman, one morning while 
they were assembled at breakfast, " could I but know 
the fate of our dear Howard — even though it were 
death itself, — I should feel comparatively happy ; 
but this painful suspense — oh, it is insupportable. 
I fear that his misfortunes have, in a measure, pro- 
ceeded from a neglect of duty on our part. It was an 
error, to permit his waywardness to gain such as- 
cendancy over us, for we should have remembered, 
that 

" As the twig is bent — the tree's inclin'd." 



EFFECTS OF INDULGENCE. 5i 

"True — very true" said Melissa, "and dear 
mother, permit me now to tell you that this very 
error in the management of my brother has been the 
cause of all my unhappiness. Many times have I 
receded from your presence, shuddering, when with 
unseemly words he was allowed to insult you, and 
reproof came not. Prompted by the fondness of a 
sister's love, I at length ventured gently to admonish 
him, but the return I met, went as a dagger to my 
heart, and its inmost recesses were made to bleed. 
From that hour I resolved to renounce the world, and 
all its seeming enjoyments, and seek a happiness 
above its power to control. In this I have succeeded, 
and while you have been lavishing your fondness 
upon him, and he has been wounding your heart by 
ingratitude, I have found my sweetest consolation in 
bowing before the mercy seat, and craving blessings 
for you, and repentance for my brother." 

" Oh, my blessed daughter ! " said Mr. Coleman " 
— at that instant the door-bell suddenly rang — they 
all started up, for it was an unusual event. "Go," 
said Mr. Coleman to a servant, " and see who waits." 
Scarcely was the bolt withdrawn, ere a young gen- 
tleman rushed into the room, slowly followed by 
another. He stood a moment and glanced his eye 
upon the circle, then approaching Maj. Coleman, fell 
upon his knees, exclaiming, "My father! my fa- 
ther ! ! " — " It is — it is my son," said Mrs. Coleman, 
and fell fainting into the arms of Irena. The scene 



52 GREEN MOUNTAIN LIFE. 

that followed defies the power of description, and is 
left for the reader's imagination. 

When tranquility was restored, disengaging him- 
self from the embrace of Irena, he led the stranger 
forward, saying, " Behold, my friends, the preserver 
of your lost Howard. To him I owe not only my 
life, but my moral salvation. Pricked to the heart, 
by a sense of my awful depravity, after penning those 
short addresses to you, I walked away, yet in what 
direction I knew not, as a mania was fast gathering 
upon my brain. I wandered through the first day 
and night without stopping for rest or refreshment. 
At length nature became exhausted ; I seated myself 
upon the steps of a church, and fainted. How long I 
remained in this situation, I know not, but when I 
awoke to consciousness, I found myself on a couch, 
in a chamber, and this young gentleman bending 
over me, whose tears had already moistened my 
cheek. He bade me be quiet, and administered cor- 
dials to my emaciated frame. At length I revived 
and learned from my attendant that I was recovering 
from a fever, which I had endured two weeks, in a 
state of perfect unconsciousness. He then begged to 
be informed of my history, which I related in brief, 
while the tear of sympathy flowed afresh from his 
eyes. ' Ah! ' said he, ' you have forsaken the paths 
of virtue — you have neglected your moral duties, and 
forgotten your dependence on a righteous Heaven ; but 
your case is not hopeless — you acknowledge a sense 



EFFECTS OF INDULGENCE. 53 

of depravity, which is the first step to amendment, 
and if you will place yourself under my direction, I 
will endeavor to lead you back to that peace, which 
you have so foolishly cast away. Past effects cannot 
be recalled, yet the future may be improved, and you 
may yet become a ' bright and shining light,' to at- 
tract others from the paths of vice.' 

" I learned that my protector had been nursed in the 
school of adversity. Often had he seen his earthly 
hopes cut off — often had the arrows of disappointment 
wounded his susceptible heart ; yet by a firm reliance 
on the wisdom of Providence, he had been enabled to 
gain a calm serenity, and by the aid of philosophy, 
was enabled to soar far above them. 

" He had wealth, and was by profession an agricul- 
turalist^in which pursuit he provided me with easy 
employment, while he was continually filling my ears 
with useful lessons. After delineating the beauties 
and uses of vegetable substances, he proceeded to 
lecture upon our state as dependent beings, shewing 
the innumerable blessings by which we are surround- 
ed, and pointing out our boundless obligations. He 
then descanted upon the crime of abusing those bles- 
sings. Disrespect to parents, was a subject on which 
he dwelt with peculiar reprehension. In fine, after 
an exertion of one year, under his direction, I find 
myself quite another being — newly moulded — and, as 
I trust, completely renovated. Though it is not in 
my power to make amends for the injuries of my past 



54 GfttftfN MOUNTAIN L1F£. 

conduct, yet if you can condescend to forgive a peni- 
tent, his future exertions to serve you, shall evince a 
sincerity, which I trust will be deep and lasting. — 
Melissa !— my much injured sister— permit me to in- 
troduce you to Edward Morley, whose sentiments, so 
congenial to your own, will, I trust, in future, make 
amends for that happiness which I have so wickedly 
rifled from you. It was for your sake, that I invited 
him to accompany me, and for my sake, let me hope 
that you will receive him as his merits deserve." 

Thus was the lost Howard Coleman once more re- 
stored to the embraces of his friends ; once more the 
laugh of joy was heard in the long desolate mansion 
of his father ; and once more the flush of happiness 
sat on the cheek, and hope beamed from the eye of 
Irena Sidney. Sorrow had made deep inroads upon 
the constitutions of Maj. and Mrs. Coleman, yet the 
cordial of a lost son's affection soon revived their 
drooping powers, and they again walked abroad, 
greeting their former acquaintance, like beings who 
had awaked to new life. 

The closed doors of his father's office were again 
opened, and a flourishing business ensued under the 
direction of the qualified Howard. He is united to 
Irena, who is now the mother of several children, 
and in their affectionate endeavors to elevate and im- 
prove their minds, they never forget the " Effects of 
Indulgence." 



THE MOURNER OF THE LAKE. 



Who that has once seen the beautiful island of 
South Hero, in Lake Champlain, can forget its 
charming scenery. Returning, in 1820, from an ex- 
cursion in Western New York, I passed through this 
island. The road upon which we travelled was 
skirted with rows of trees apparently standing in their 
native state, but of what species I could not deter- 
mine. The adjacent fields were redundant with the 
finest orchards I had ever beheld, while the farm 
houses, scattered at convenient distances, possessed 
much of the taste and elegance of the city mansion . 

It was mid afternoon, when we arrived at a village 

upon its eastern shore, commanding a wide view of 

those waters immortalised by the victory of McDon- 

ough. We alighted at an elegant Inn, and it being 

4 



56 GREEN MOUNTAIN LIFE. 

too late to cross the waters, requested accommoda- 
tions for the night. I soon discovered from the gaiety 
of a numerous assembly, who were collecting, that a 
wedding was being celebrated in the house, and so 
much was my attention occupied, in viewing the 
splendid dresses of those who were passing, that I 
did not at first observe a young female arrayed in 
deep mourning, who was sitting near a window that 
commanded a view of the Lake, which, as the sun 
was setting, reflected his amber beams, and presented 
a scene of beauty and grandeur indescribable. 

When first I beheld her, she was leaning her head 
upon her hand, and appeared as if intently gazing 
upon some object distant upon the waters ; and so 
much did she appear to be engrossed by the sight, 
that I stepped forward, in order to share with her the 
interesting vision, but she sighed deeply, and looking 
up, 1 saw upon her features an expression altogether 
undefinable. Her soul was evidently rilled with sor- 
row — but it was a sorrow that sympathy could not 
reach, and it feasted upon and devoured her heart. I 
felt an irresistible desire to know the source of her 
misfortune, and at length said, " Pardon me madam, 
if I am intrusive, but your garb bespeaks you to be a 
mourner. As I have myself drank deeply from the 
' cup of sorrow,' I feel it my privilege to sympathise 
with the afflicted." She did not reply, but looking 
intently upon a gold watch, which she held in her 
hand, arose and left the room. I saw her no more — 



THE MOURNER OF THE LAKE. 57 

but from my hostess I learned the following circum- 
stances. 

Fanny Clifford, said she, is the daughter of a 
wealthy merchant, residing in the town of , bor- 
dering upon the lake on the Vermont shore. She 
possessed, from childhood, every advantage that 
wealth and indulgence could give. Her education 
was finished at a female boarding school in the city 
of New York, and she was all in person and man- 
ners, that the hearts of her fond parents could wish 
or desire. 

In the early part of the year 1814, Fanny was 
walking upon the beach, at sunset, to inhale a pure 
evening breeze, and listening to the water fowl as it 
pensively whispered its " good evening " song, when 
suddenly a boat turning a point, glided directly to the 
spot where she was standing. Being much surprised 
by the suddenness of its appearance, she remained 
motionless, while a young officer, in naval uniform, 
springing from the boat, stood before her. " Do not 
be alarmed, my sweet girl," said he, " it was not my 
intention to obtrude upon a stranger, but having a 
glimpse of your form from a distance, and possessing 
somewhat of romance in my composition, I was led 
to believe that I had discovered sweet Ellen, the 
' Lady of the Lake ;' yet whether it be reality or not, 
I am highly gratified. I perceive that you are an ad- 
mirer of nature, for which these shores present abun- 
dant matter. I am in this vicinity a stranger, having 



58 GREEN MOUNTAIN LIFE. 

but lately entered on board the fleet, and it was with 
our good commodore's permission that I took this 
little aquatic excursion for the purpose of pencilling 
upon my mind, scenes which are delightful. Here I be- 
hold beauty blended with simplicity, and majesty with 
wonder, which to the lover of nature, and of nature's 
God, awake emotions of pleasure and gratitude." 

Such was the language with which Fanny was ad- 
dressed by a polite and very prepossessing young 
officer. There was a frankness in his deportment, 
which at once bespoke him void of art or design, and 
she permitted him to accompany her to her own door, 
and assented to his request for permission to call again. 

It cannot be supposed that an adventure so entirely 
new, should have been revolved by Fanny with in- 
difference. O no ! there was an ease, an affability, 
a delicacy, in the stranger's deportment which could 
not fail to secure a deep interest. Three weeks had 
elapsed, during which, though she had refrained 
walking in that direction, yet not a morning, noon, 
nor evening had passed but she had raised her win- 
dow sash, to glance upon the distant waters, where 
she had beheld his boat gliding away so fleetly. 

At length one afternoon, as she was busily en- 
gaged with her paints, and was sketching the out- 
line of a boat, with an officer seated at its helm, a rap 
was heard at the street door. Mrs. Clifford opened 
it, when an officer in full uniform entered. The 
blush upon Fanny's cheek left her mother in no doubt 



THE MOURNER OF THE LAKE. 59 

as to who was the stranger, and he was cordially re- 
ceived. Fanny inquired by what name she should 

introduce him, to which he replied, " Arthur B , 

madam." Mr. Clifford soon entered, and they learn- 
ed that their guest was the son of a clergyman in 
Massachusetts, and that he had been liberally edu- 
cated. The afternoon glided swiftly away, and he 
arose to depart, but not till he had been warmly urged 
to call again. 

His visits soon became frequent, and he made an 
avowal of his attachment to Fanny, which was ac- 
knowledged on her part to be reciprocal. He was 
invited to spend a few days in the family, and his ac- 
ceptance was a gratification, for while her father de- 
lighted to sound his mind upon scientific and politi- 
cal subjects, her brothers were happy to challenge 
him at a game of chequors or picquet ; but as evening 
approached, he usually invited Fanny to walk upon 
the beach, where he said his kind stars had first 
blessed him with a sight of his precious " Lady of 
the Lake." 

But at length the fatal 11th of September ap- 
proached and he was hastily called to duty. He took 
leave of the happy circle where he had passed the 
pleasantest hours of his life, but with the hope shortly 
to meet again. Fanny accompanied him to the beach. 
After mutual assurances of unutterable affection they 
parted, but as she watched his receding boat, and his 



60 GREEN MOUNTAIN LIFE. 

form faded from sight, she burst into tears. A secret 
something which she could not define, had whispered 
in her ear, "you part to meet no more!" Alas! 
poor Fanny — too true was that prophetic whisper. 

The next day the British fleet, commanded by com- 
modore Downie, appeared and challenged the Amer- 
icans by a first fire. It was returned — the conflict 
became severe. Flag after flag of the enemy was 

lowered. In the midst of the action Lieut. B 

received a shot in the right side which penetrated the 
lungs. Death was inevitable, and calling upon an 
intimate brother officer, he took from his pocket a 
gold watch, — " I am dying," said he ; " my moments 
are already numbered — take this watch — convey it to 
Fanny Clifford — tell her that I impressed upon it a 
kiss with my dying breath, and send it to her as a 
pledge of my affection even till death." He shortly 
after expired. 

The sound of the cannon had first aroused Fanny 
from her toilette, where she was preparing for the 
sacred duties of the Sabbath. She opened her case- 
ment, where by the aid of a glass she distinctly saw 
the two fleets in hostile array. Attended by her fa- 
ther and brothers she ascended a lofty eminence where 
they could observe the movement of each vessel as it 
took its stand in the action, and the most painful sen- 
sations took possession of her bosom as she listened 
to the solemn reverberation of the cannon. In vain 



THE MOURNER OF THE LAKE. 61 

did she struggle for that composure which her philo- 
sophic father affectionately urged — every shot im- 
parted a new pang, as if the missile itself had en- 
tered her bosom. 

At length after a few hours all was still. They 
saw the star-spangled flag waving triumphantly upon 
the vessel of McDonough, while the British ensigns 
had all become invisible. Again hope dawned upon 
Fanny's bosom and she could reciprocate the shouts 
of joy that thrilled from the neighboring cliffs. Most 
impatiently did she await the arrival of an approach- 
ing messenger. He came. An officer was with him, 
and he inquired for Fanny Clifford — she sprang to 
his side. " I am sorry," said he, " to be the bearer 

of sad tidings, but Lieut. B is no more. He fell 

in ardent action, and when dying committed this 
watch to my hand, with the request that I would pre- 
sent it to you, and say that he impressed a kiss upon 
it with his dying lips in remembrance of you." She 
grasped the watch and fell senseless into the arms of 
her father. Convulsion succeeded convulsion, and 
not till the third day did she manifest a sign of con- 
sciousness. Then there was a change in her eye 
which plainly indicated that reason was lost, and she 
has remained to this day in a state of insanity. She 
appears listless and indifferent, but starts when the 

names of Lieut. B or Commodore McDonough 

are uttered. She is now spending a few weeks with 



62 GREEN MOUNTAIN LIFE. 

her brother, but when at her father's house she daily 
resorts to the lake shore, where with the watch in 
her hand, she sits for hours gazing upon the waters, 
and waiting for the long-sought boat. 



THE MYSTERIOUS PASSENGER. 



! doubt not the passion that thrills 
In the depth of a bosom like mine ; 

The world may beset thee, with trial and ills, 

But affection shall never decline. 

Thou art all that my fancy may paint, 

Thou art all that my soul may adore, 

As bright as a seraph — as pure as a saint — 

1 wish not, — I ask not, for more." 

Those who have never witnessed the departure of 
a steamboat cannot conjecture the novelty of the 
scene. The long columns of dense smoke ascending 
from the flue and dissolving itself into fantastic forms 
upon the air — the star-spangled flag waving triumph- 
antly its glossy folds to the playful breeze — the pow- 
erful wheels of the engine beating their way through 
the "mighty deep " in defiance of Neptune himself, — 
with a motley assemblage of lively souls upon deck — 



64 GREEN MOUNTAIN LIFE. 

all combined, render it one of the most interesting 
spectacles. 

'Twas in the year 1838, when one of those vessels 

left the harbor at , in the State of New York, 

and gliding over the tranquil waters of the St. Law- 
rence, entered the broad bosom of the queenly Onta- 
rio. 'Twas September. ' ' Morn's benignant beams ' ' 
had passed away, and the sun in his decline was dis- 
pensing his mellow beams upon the ridgy wave, 
where land was distanced beyond the ocular view. 
The passengers who seemed to have overcome the 
restraint, usual to strangers, assembled themselves 
upon mid-deck, where conversation was flowing with 
unreserved freedom. Maj. Templeton stood leaning 
over the back of a chair, with his eyes alternately 
roving from the sublime beauties of the sparkling 
waves to the upper deck. His countenance betrayed 
evident emotion, as turning to a young lady who sat 
near him, " Look," said he, " yonder do you see 
that couple, arm in arm? They have been travers- 
ing the deck without cessation, since six o'clock this 
morning, and what is most singular, they have not 
even cast a look upon one of our company, but appear 
as if entirely absorbed in each other's destiny." 
"Who are they, Henry?" inquired his listening 
companion. " In truth I know not," he replied r 
' ' but when I left my berth this morning and ascended 
upon deck they were the first objects that met my 
view. They were then upon their knees, side by 



THE MYSTERIOUS PASSENGER. 65 

side, and as I slowly advanced, I heard her voice ar- 
ticulating a fervent prayer, but as they heard the 
sound of footsteps they arose, and turning, walked to 
an opposite direction. I have since, from irresistible 
curiosity, kept a close watch upon them, yet it has 
only served to lead me still deeper into the labyrinth 
of mystery, from which I am unable to extricate my- 
self. In passing near them, I have frequently heard 
their sighs, and several times beheld the lady's eyes 
suffused with tears. Only a few moments ago, I 
heard her exclaim, ' O Charles ! how can I give you 
up — it will break my heart — indeed it will.' To 
which he replied, ' God reigns, my dearest Emma ; 
let us submit.' " 

While Major Templeton was yet speaking, they 
descended the stairs upon middle-deck, where every 
eye was instantly turned upon them ; yet they heeded 
it not, but seemed to cling to each other as if nought 
on earth could divide them. 

They were a couple of most interesting appearance. 
He was tall and gracefully proportioned, with easy, 
yet commanding gait, while she was but the counter- 
part of himself. Their features were not to be de- 
scribed, as they had not displayed them for criticism, 
neither could the color of their eyes be ascertained, 
yet there was a striking similarity of person at first 
sight, while so much dignity was blended with indif- 
ference that no one dared to interrupt them even with 
a question. They seemed like two solitary pilgrims 



66 GREEN MOUNTAIN LIFE. 

passing through a world, where, save each other, 
there was not an object worth even a transient 
thought. Imagination portrayed their minds in unison 
with the poet, who says — 

" I hate the worldling's vanity and noise, 
J have no fellow-feeling in his joys, 
The saint's serener bliss 1 cannot share, 
My soul, alas ! hath no communion there, — 
This is the portion of my cup below, 
Silent — unmingled, solitary woe." 

They continued their deck peregrination, occasion- 
ally ascending or descending from one floor to the 
other, till night closed the scene. The weary pas- 
sengers, one after another, sought their humble berths, 
and silence reigned profound, save the monotonous 
sound of the propelling wheel, the voice of the helms- 
man, now and then singing to himself some solitary 
ditty to while away the lonely hour, and the soft step 
of the mysterious pair. At length all was silent — the 
vessel entered a harbor — the engine was stilled, and 
the sleeper slept sweetly. 

Major Templeton awoke at an early hour. His 
sleep had been disturbed by visions of " virtue in dis- 
tress." He fancied he heard sounds, and listening, 
distinguished the low voice of the female stranger 
singing the following lines : — 

" Friend of the fatherless and saint, 
Where shall 1 lodge my deep complaint? " 



THE MYSTERIOUS PASSENGER. 67 

He hastened from his berth and ascended upon 
deck, where reclining upon a chair, he beheld the 
youthful female — her countenance as pallid as death, 
while her eye was resting upon the far off deep. A 
wretchedness indescribable was perceptible in her 
mien, which contrasted with the loveliness of her per- 
son, gave her the appearance of " virtue weeping 
over the desolation of vice." To behold so lovely a 
person sinking under a weight of grief, while no 
friendly arm was outstretched for relief, was too much 
for the sensibility of Major Templeton to support, and 
stepping forward, he would have addressed her, but 
she rising hastily passed by him, descended the stairs 
to the ladies' cabin and threw herself upon a berth. 

The young gentleman had disappeared ; yet in 
what way, no one was able to conjecture. From a 
certain wildness of his appearance the evening previ- 
ous, some were inclined to think he had sought a 
watery grave. The captain could only say that he 
received him on board the week previous and landed 

him at the village of O h, on the St. Lawrence 

river, where he again came on board, accompanied by 
the fair stranger. As he had paid his passage to the 
present place, he concluded he had left the vessel, 
but the lady was to remain on board to Niagara and 
return again to the place from whence she proceeded. 
Thus, while conjecture was unable to unfold the mys- 
tery, every one concurred in the opinion that the 
5 



68 GREEN MOUNTAIN LIFE. 

young couple were peculiarly unfortunate, in some 
way or other, and entitled to commiseration. 

Major Templeton was a gentleman, possessing in 
the highest degree the genuineness of a feeling heart. 
He had in his early years taken many lessons in the 
school of adversity, which happily had left their salu- 
tary effects upon his youthful heart. The seeds of 
pride and ambition had been uprooted in the bud, 
while humility and philanthropy sprung up and flour- 
ished upon their ruins. In short, his heart, devoid of 
all that selfishness so detrimental to human associa- 
tions, found its superior delight in imparting happi- 
ness to others. His form, though not of the most 
graceful mould, was nevertheless manly. But his 
chief attraction was an open countenance in which 
every noble and generous sentiment beamed in cloud- 
less expression. He was not youthful ; thirty sum- 
mers having left something of their impress upon his 
brow, and those who were acquainted with the fact, 
that his noble father fell in a duel to which he was 
unjustly called, and that his amiable mother from that 
cause became a maniac and was now an inmate of an 
insane hospital, imagined they could see upon his 
cheek the channel of a tearly flood. Nevertheless, 
he was unexceptionably an agreeable man, and those 
who cultivated most intimately his friendship, pro- 
nounced him one of the "excellent of the earth." 
The cloud which had overshadowed his youthful pros- 



THE MYSTERIOUS PASSENGER. 69 

pects had now dispersed, and he was enjoying the 
radiant shine of prosperity. That he felt himself 
deeply interested in the fate of the ' ' mysterious un- 
known," he could not deny ; and impelled by the 
leading characteristic of his heart, benevolence, he 
resolved if perseverance could effect it, to find out the 
source of her apparently peculiar misfortunes and 
proffer relief. Accordingly, when after a few hours, 
she arose and seated herself upon deck, with an obvi- 
ous serenity upon her countenance, he accosted her 
with " a very pleasant morning, madam 1 " to which 
she slightly bowed ; then placing her handkerchief 
before her face seemed as if desirous to prevent fur- 
ther interrogation. " You appear to be in ill health, 
my friend," said he ; " may I presume to inquire if 
it is in my power or any one on board this vessel to 
render you assistance ; if so, be assured your wishes 
will be promptly complied with, at the same time that 
you confer a gratification." Her features assumed 
an expression of tenderness, as relaxing from timidity, 
she raised her eyes upon him who addressed her and 
replied with a trembling voice, " Alas, sir, mine is 
the ' malady of the mind.' " " Then," said he, " so 
much the greater will be our happiness in imparting 
relief. I have myself drank deeply from the cup of 
sorrow ; and would you but unfold the source of your 
afflictions you will find a heart that can bestow sym- 
pathy unparalleled." " I am very sensible to your 
kindness, sir," said she, "and revere the principle 



70 GREEN MOUNTAIN LIFE. 

from which I doubt not you are actuated, but mine is 
a disease that will yield to ' oblivion's antidote ' alone. 
The source I cannot, must not at present reveal." 
" But," said he, "if I were to divine the final result, 
may I hope that you will acquiesce 1 " She remained 
silent. "You have parted with a lover," said he, 
" and years perchance may intervene ere the fates 
permit you again to meet." She started — then re- 
plied vehemently, " a lover — no — O no ; a brother — 
dear — yes dearer than all on earth beside. He was my 
all — all the stern fates had left to guide my orphan 
feet through life's bleak 'wilderness of woe.'" 
" But are you to meet him no more] " said the Ma- 
jor. Tears rushed to her eyes as she exclaimed, 
' ' forbear — forbear. ' ' 

Major Templeton had turned aside to hide his own 
emotions, but returning, he inquired if she would not 
take some refreshments, which she at first declined, 
but his solicitations prevailed. " I have," said he, 
" on board a sister who like yourself is an orphan. 
She can reciprocate most tenderly every emotion that 
arises from the separation of inestimable friends. 
Give me leave to present you to her. By what name 
shall I present you ? " A crimson blush instantly 
mantled her cheek as she replied, "I am not at lib- 
erty to say." He entered the cabin and returned 
leading an elegant female, whose full dark eye was 
beaming with expressive benevolence. " Miss Caro- 
line Templeton,. my beloved sister," said he, as he 



THE MYSTERIOUS PASSENGER. 71 

presented her. A smile, such as may not he repress- 
ed when congenial souls have the happiness to meet, 
instantly played upon the sad features of the fair 
stranger, and although there are but few, perhaps, 
who would advocate the doctrine of instinctive recog- 
nition, yet these two young ladies were shortly after 
seated at the table together, enjoying something like 
a familiar tete-a-tete. 

Major Templeton seated in a corner, was exulting 
at the happy transition he had effected, and at the 
same time criticising every variation in her counte- 
nance, as if to divine the inmost recesses of her soul, 
when she, turning suddenly to him, said rather ab- 
ruptly, " You, sir, have inquired my name — for cer- 
tain reasons I cannot now comply ; reasons, which 
were you but acquainted with, you would acquit me 
at once ; I am sure you would. Suffice it to say, I 
am an orphan left upon the ' world's wide stage ' 
alone. A time may come when I can tell you more — 
when the mystery which I am now painfully obliged 
to assume may be no longer necessary, when I may 
tell you why I am separated from a kind brother. At 
present it is my privilege to indulge a secret grief, 
which preys upon my heart's best and noblest feel- 
ings." 

The vessel had beat her " trackless way " through 
the mighty waters of Ontario and was gently winding 
up the romantic Genesee. They beheld with awe the 
high towering banks on either side, which seemed 



72 GREEN MOUNTAIN LIFE. 

like barriers placed to defy the approach of happi- 
ness, or to teach man the necessity of exertion to ob- 
tain it. Their summits were covered with evergreen 
firs, which bending their proud tops gracefully to- 
ward the stream, seemed inviting its passengers to 
ascend ; while the roaring of a terrific cataract a few 
miles distant, was the warning to speed. 

As the thought first struck upon the mind of Major 
Templeton he deemed it almost prophetic. He felt 
indeed, that he was approaching a crisis upon which 
his future happiness was almost entirely depending. 
He turned to the mysterious passenger — she was con- 
versing with his sister, — her mild blue eye was light- 
ed up almost to animation, and there was a modest 
sweetness of expression visible through the " som- 
brous shade " that sat upon her delicate brow, which 
at once charmed and captivated. He felt indeed that 
he was enslaved. Pity had been his first exciting 
principle ; it had led him on by hasty degrees to ad- 
miration, which speedily terminated in a softer, a 
more nameless sentiment. " Can I," thought he, as 
he gazed intently upon her, " ever forget such loveli- 
ness 1 That she is one of the most amiable of her 
sex,T cannot doubt ; that she is pious I am convinced, 
as I saw her upon her knees supplicating for one 
1 stricken by misfortune's power,' — and must she 
pine away in neglected solitude, without a protector 
to shield her from the ' pitiless storms of life ? ' It 
must not in?." He arose, paced the floor with hurried 



THE MYSTERIOUS PASSENGER. 73 

steps — then turning, " Madam," said he, " we must 
soon part ; the harbor is already in view where my 
sister and myself must take our leave of you ; but — 
is this to be a final separation 1 are we to commune 
no more upon the shores of time, and am I never to 
have the happiness of articulating your name 1 O ! 
say not so — but promise me that you will sometime, 
through the aid of the friendly pen, tell me that I am 
not an object of entire indifference to you ; and could I 
gain your consent, with what heartfelt pleasure 
should I respond the kindly sentence. She blushed 
confusedly as she replied, " And do you, my kind 
sir, doubt my gratitude 1 Were my heart callous as 
yonder adamant it could not receive unmoved the 
sympathetic and friendly attentions so kindly imparted 
by yourself and angel sister. Ah ! no — believe me — 
while the springs of life continue to give pulsation to 
my heart, it will beat warm to the memory of those, 
who in the hour of adversity, sought to pour the 
balm of consolation upon the bleeding heart of a 
stranger. These towering cliffs may move — this 
stream may leave its channel dry, but gratitude in 
my bosom will flourish perennial with life. I cannot 
write to you until I am disenthralled of the mystery 
which at present has become my unhappy lot ; yet, 
if you please to give me your address, I promise that 
whenever I can do so consistently, you shall hear 
from me, when ingratitude, I am assured, will not be 
accounted inherent in my nature." To this propo- 



74 GREEN MOUNTAIN LIFE. 

sition he most joyfully assented, at the same time 
begging permission to make one query more. " Par- 
don it, madam, but — are you engaged? " " Frank- 
ly, sir, I declare I am not," she replied, with some- 
thing like an arch smile. Stepping upon the wharf, 
she accompanied them a few rods to the foot of the 
precipice, where Major Templeton and his sister took 
a most affectionate leave of the lovely, yet " mys- 
terious passenger." As they slowly wound their 
way up the steep declivity, they distinctly heard her 
voice in plaintive tone, singing the following lines : — 

I bid thee adieu ; but t cannot forget 

St. Lawrence's bosom, the scene where we met, 

J\or my heart's rapid beat, when thou call'dst me thy friend, 

And did thy protection and friendship extend. 

A few minutes only had elapsed, when Major 
Templeton with his sister leaning on his arm, appear- 
ed at an Inn door, where a stage was in waiting, in 
which they immediately took a seat, where in forget- 
fulness of all around him, he yielded to a train of 
pleasing reflections. " Yes, I shall hear from her 
again ; that gentle heart is the seat of every virtue — 
my hopes cannot be wrecked there. Why, alas ! 
should sorrow so untimely assail her youthful heart ; 
but all is not lost — cheerfulness must again return 
and happiness re-unite with virtue." 

Autumn, with her sallow robe, had disappeared at 
the approach of winter, and boreas himself had yield- 



THE MYSTERIOUS PASSENGER 75 

ed to the soft strains of lovely spring. The vales, 
the fields, the gardens were smiling in all their 
charming variegated robes. The birds were carolling 
on every bough, and happiness seemed to have de- 
scended to bless the whole human family. Yet there 
was one who sat pensive and sad — to whose sight the 
flower in vain presented its renovated bloom — on 
whose ear the notes of the feathered songsters fell 
with dull and unharmonious sound. " Why, Henry," 
said Caroline to her brother, " you do not appear like 
yourself. It is in vain that I strive to get you abroad 
these blithe mornings : you that used to be so intense 
an admirer of my well arranged flowers, and such a 
critic too upon the notes of your favorite blackbird ; 
I declare I hardly think you have even paid the 
homage of a look at the woodbine, which begins 
already to twine gracefully upon the posts of your 
favorite evening seat. You must chase away this 
gathering gloom, indeed you must, or my happiness 
will flee at your expense." " I was thinking," said 
he, " that this day completes the lapse of eight long 
months since we took leave of our stranger friend, 
the fair incognito, and I fancied even now I could 
hear her voice sweetly singing those valedictory lines. 
Why is it that we have not received one line from 
her to relieve our anxious suspense. Did she not 
promise to write? " His impatience had truly arrived 
at an alarming height. He began to suspect her 
truth, and reflect upon himself for his simple credu- 



76 GREEN MOUNTAIN LIFE. 

lity. His dearly cherished hopes were then to prove 
visionary; in fine, was he again to be duped by the 
external charms of a heartless female 1 Jlalf vexed at 
his own folly, he entered his room, where Caroline 
shortly followed, holding in her hand a sealed packet. 
" Philo has brought this from the post-office ; see, 
Henry, is it not from the mysterious passenger'?" 
He seized it hastily, and breaking the seal discovered 
in elegant characters, " Emily Vandoorn," and his 
heart fluttered excessively while he read as fol- 
lows : — 

TO MAJOR HENRY TEMPLETON. 

g h, May 5th, 1838. 

Am I accused and condemned already — and may I 
not plead in my own defence 1 Believe me, dear sir, 
when I tell you the news of this day's paper has for 
the first time put it in my power to fulfil an engage- 
ment, the sacredness of which has ever been upper- 
most in my memory. Sensible as I am that the 
mystery which I, from duty to my brother, saw 
proper to assume, was painful to your feelings, I em- 
brace the opportunity to give you an explanation. It 
will of course devolve upon me to give you some ac- 
count of myself and family. 

My father, Col. Vandoorn, was an inhabitant of 
one of the New England states. At the time of the 
late struggle between the United States and Great 
Britain, his breast became fired with patriotic zeal, 



THE MYSTERIOUS PASSENGER. 77 

and leaving his two children to the care of my 
mother, he enlisted. Being appointed to a command, 
he soon after met the enemy, fought, and fell ; a ball 
from a concealed marksman penetrated his breast. 
" My wife and children ! " were the only words he 
articulated while struggling in the agonies of dissolu- 
tion. The news of my father's death proved fatal to 
my dear mother also. From that hour she began to 
droop ; she smiled not, and ere the expiration of one 
year we saw the cold turf placed upon her remains. 
Thus were my brother Charles and myself deprived 
of both our parents at a time when our juvenile 
years most demanded their careful attentions and be- 
fore we were capable of understanding the magnitude 
of our loss. The unruffled springs of our hearts 
emitted not a tear. 

At length an uncle, residing in the State of New 
York, hearing of our destitute situation, came and 
took us to his own house, where we were treated 
by him with peculiar tenderness. He being a mer- 
chant, my brother Charles was trained for the coun- 
ter, while I was designed as a future preceptress, 
and qualified accordingly. Our youthful days flit- 
ted on buoyant wings, while our chief happiness 
was centered in each other. Charles had ever mani- 
fested a peculiar attachment to me. The sensibilities 
of his heart were of the most susceptible mould, and 
when ruffled by the vexations incident to impetuous 
youth he ever resorted to me for my advice, while my 



78 GREEN MOUNTAIN LIFE. 

direction was strictly adhered to, and he returned with 
a smile of satisfaction. We truly realized our or- 
phan state : felt that we were left alone in the wide 
world and must look to each other for those natural 
endearments which fate had cruelly deprived us of in 
others. 

At length to our inexpressible sorrow, our beloved 
uncle died, and he having left no will, we found our- 
selves utterly unprovided for. Our aunt, though she 
had no children of her own, on whom to lavish her 
fondness, had never supplied the place of a mother to 
us. Avarice was her characteristic ; she became cold 
and indifferent to us. Charles grew uneasy. — "I 
will go," said he, "to some other place and try what 
fortune may have in store for us, and should I suc- 
ceed in my honest endeavors, be assured Emily, the 
half I may accumulate shall be your own." We 
parted with many tears. Lonely and desolate as I 
was, I engaged as instructress to a select school. My 
pupils were interesting, and in the employment of my 
station, so completely was my time occupied that I 
almost forgot to weep for my absent brother. Three 
months winged their flight and I received an affection- 
ate letter. Though he had been disappointed and 
could not get into satisfactory employment, yet his 
bosom was beating with sanguine hopes that by integ- 
rity and perseverance he should yet succeed according 
to his wishes. Three months more had completed 
my second quarter. The evening subsequent to an 



THE MYSTERIOUS PASSENGER. 79 

examination I sat up later than usual ; my mind in- 
voluntarily strayed to my dear brother. I had pre- 
viously been haunted by "troubled dreams," when 
he appeared to be in distress and stretching forth his 
hands for assistance. I shuddered at the haggardness 
of his emaciated features. The door of my room 
communicated with the street. I took up my pen and 
commenced " My dear Brother," when I heard a 
gentle tap upon the door. I v/as alarmed, but step- 
ping forward, inquired "who is there ?" "Emily, 
dear Emily, let me come in." I knew the voice too 
well, and the next moment I was in the arms of my 
brother. "But oh! why this disguise — why these 
altered looks — Charles what has befallen you ?" He 
sobbed aloud. " Yes, Emily," said he, "lam in- 
deed altered ; the cruel fates have frowned upon me 
and my hopes are forever blasted. I am — oh ! how 
can I say it — I am a tenant of a loathsome jail, and 
ere the expiration of two weeks I must in all proba- 
bility take up my abode in a state prison." I fainted. 
How long I remained insensible, I know not, but 
when I opened my eyes he stood leaning over me and 
as he kissed my half reanimated cheek I felt the cold 
sweat upon his brow. " Arise Emily," said he — 
' ' arise , for my stay must be short ; before the dawn 
of morning breaks I must leave you. The vessel is 
in the harbor which must return me to my dismal 
abode, or the ruin of a noble hearted man must be the 
inevitable consequence." "I will go with vou,"' 
6 



80 GREEN MOUNTAIN LIFE. 

said I ; " 1 will plead in your behalf: be the crime al- 
leged what it may, I can convince them of your inno- 
cence — you shall be again set free." " No my dear 
sister, that cannot be," he replied, " for my absence 
by that means must be discovered, and all that is sa- 
credly dear to one must thus be sacrificed. 'Tis to 
the humanity of the jailor that I am indebted for this 
farewell visit to you ; my prayers and tears prevailed 
over his duty, and he trusting to my honor, gave me 
privately leave of absence for five days, at the same 
time generously providing me with the means to pro- 
cure my passage. Next week I am to have my trial, 
and though innocent, I have but little hope of acquit- 
tance." I then begged permission to accompany him 
on his return, until he landed, and remain on board 
till the vessel returned. To this he consented upon 
condition that I should not disclose our names and 
residence, and before the " rosy gates of morn " were 
open, while darkness yet pervaded the hemisphere, 
we stepped on board, and you, sir, were a witness to 
the anguish of those never to be forgotten hours. 

While we were walking the decks he gave me at 
intervals a succinct account of his misfortunes. He 
had entered the employment of a merchant of consid- 
erable opulence in the village of C , and by him 

was sent to convey a large amount of specie to a cred- 
itor. He set out upon his journey with the confided 
treasure deposited in a trunk in the body of his car- 
riage, and stopping at an Inn to relieve his horse, he 



THE MYSTERIOUS PASSENGER. 81 

sat down in the bar-room to smoke a cigar. While 
thus employed he was accosted by an arch looking 
fellow, saying, " why, friend, I admire the make of 
your coat ; it is not of yankee construction surely," 
at the same time examining it critically, especially 
about the pockets, which, by the by, were of recent 
fashion, and it did not so much surprise my brother. 
He was detained several minutes by the subsequent 
questions which the stranger applied in quick succes- 
sion. When he arrived at his place of destination, 
he discovered to his amazement that the money had 
been removed, although the trunk remained in the 
same posture, and the lock yielded as usual, only to a 
double turn of the key. He made known his misfor- 
tune to the gentleman who was to receive the money, 
who to my brother's consternation, accused him of 
being himself the thief, and procuring an immediate 
warrant had him searched. In his pocket was found 
a folded paper traced with the following words : — 

" Cheer up Vandoorn — perseverance is the only 
way to wealth ; be firm, and the prize shall yet be 
ours. We will teach a miser that we are not wanting 
in wit.— Yours, faithfully, L. F." 

On the coming forth of this paper from his pockets 
so unexpectedly, of which he had not the least knowl- 
edge, an instantaneous flush suffused his cheek, which 
was by his accusers imputed to guilt. He had from 
the moment of his accusation felt a kind of indignant 



82 GREEN MOUNTAIN LIFE. 

defiance, proceeding from a consciousness of his in- 
tegrity, but now he perceived that the fates were in- 
deed against him, and his fortitude fell. 

Sufficient evidence having been produced to war 
rant his commitment, he was imprisoned, where, after 
several weeks languishing in hopeless solitude, he 
was permitted a secret visit to me. 

The next week was the time appointed for his trial ; 
he had no witness, no friend, to stand forth in his de- 
fence. His employer believed him guilty, and his 
condemnation was most certain. 

My unhappy brother was brought to trial according 
to his anticipations, but there being some contradicto- 
ry evidence, he was remanded to await the sitting of 
the Supreme Court, six months distant. Thus were 
his sufferings prolonged, and thus my agony protract- 
ed by long and painful suspense. 

This morning I took up the paper as usual, and 
casting my eye upon the, judicial department, read to 
my inexpressible joy that my beloved brother had been 
acquitted. Yes, sweet word, acquitted, the evidence 
adduced, with certain attendant circumstances, ren- 
dering the justice of his conviction a matter of doubt 
in the minds of the jury. A stranger had disposed of 
a large amount of specie and suddenly disappeared, 
who was supposed to belong to a party of depredators 
who had long infested the country, yet by their 
shrewdness avoided apprehension. From the descrip- 
tion of the person suspected, Charles in one moment 



THE MYSTERIOUS PASSENGER. 83 

recognised the identical pocket criticiser and was no 
longer in doubt as to the manner in which the fatal 
paper had been introduced. 

I am now in hope shortly again to meet him " who 
was lost and is found — was dead and is alive again." 
You, my dear sir, nor your amiable sister, cannot 
conjecture the happiness that is in store for me. To 
clasp my beloved brother once more to my arms, to 
behold him free, the gloom of misery exchanged for 
the smile of joy, must be truly a happiness beyond 
the power of earth to augment. In my hours of af- 
fliction, so intense was that grief which fell like a 
thunder-clap upon my unprepared heart, I had almost 
forgotten that I had dedicated myself to a Being whom 
I believed endowed with supreme wisdom and ever 
able to save, but now my heart expands in overflow- 
ing gratitude to him for his sparing mercies. 

I flatter myself you will require no greater assur- 
ance of the high consideration in which your memory 
is held, than the confidential manner in which I have 
penned these lines. The heart when disburdened of 
its misery contains more room for exalted friendship, 
which must ever remain an actuating principle in my 
heart towards yourself and amiable sister. 

Emily Vandoorn. 

To give the reader an adequate idea of the joyful 
emotion which thrilled the bosom of Major Templeton 
while perusing the preceding letter, would be impossi- 
6* 



84 GREEN MOUNTAIN LIFE. 

ble. His natural propensity to "doing good" rose 
predominant and vibrated upon every nerve as the 
idea glanced upon his mind, " I have money enough 
in store, and will assist the brother of my beloved." 
" Caroline," said he, " let us set out for O — g — h 
immediately ; we will witness the re-uniting happi- 
ness of the brother and sister." A few hours after- 
wards they were standing upon a wharf; a vessel was 
approaching in which they took passage. Two days 
had nearly worn away when they discovered the an- 
ticipated village. As they approached, the scene be- 
came charming beyond description. The sun was 
casting his last yellow beams upon the Canadian 
hills — not a cloud was seen to dim the clear blue 
sky — the river's bosom was tranquil as midnight it- 
self. At a short distance a tributary stream '^wend- 
ed " along, upon whose banks were to be seen " mil- 
itary remains," from which it would seem its waters 
were fleeing in terror, and committing themselves to 
a bosom of peace. The village was gradually rising 
before them in all the splendor of modern art, while 
from the piazza of one of its noblest buildings, issued 
the sweet notes of a clarionet, which falling in magic 
cadence upon the listening wave, passed in reverbe- 
rating echo to the opposite shore. To complete the 
scene, a schooner came gliding up the river, its white 
sails spread, giving it the appearance of an " airy 
sprite." 

As the vessel neared the wharf, the schooner 



THE MYSTERIOUS PASSENGER. 85 

crowding sail, came alongside ; a tall figure was seen 
on deck waving a handkerchief. A female form ar- 
rayed in white, which was outvied by the color of 
her face, approached from a by-street and pressing 
through the crowd of spectators rushed to the schoon- 
er's side. " Charles, Charles," she exclaimed — a 
youth sprang from the deck and Charles and Emily 
were once more in each other's arms. Tears of joy 
coursed his manly cheek while she clung to his neck 
in an ecstasy of unspeakable delight. Major Tem- 
pleton stood a silent spectator, till emotions beyond 
the power of endurance, urged him forward. He 
approached with his sister. " Emily, Miss Van- 
doorn," said he, — she released her embrace and look- 
ing up beheld him, who next to her brother, was 
dearest on earth. She grasped his extended hand 
with transport, then falling upon the neck of his sis- 
ter, exclaimed " my happiness is indeed complete." A 
joy like that which pervaded the breasts of this young 
couple, defies the power of description. Mr. Van- 
doorn was introduced to Major and Miss Templeton, 
and from that hour Caroline was his destined bride. 
Major Templeton sought the hand of the " mysteri- 
ous passenger," who by her protracted sufferings had 
wasted away almost beyond credibility, yet that 
sweetness of expression which had at first captiva- 
ted his heart, was beaming with renewed and more 
fascinating charm. 

They returned to the mansion of their aunt, where 



86 GREEN MOUNTAIN LIFE. 

after settling all concerns, they again took passage 
together in the same vessel in which a few months 
before they had met with such a singular introduction, 
and landing in the deep recess of the Genessee, 
climbed with alacrity its banks and in a few days they 
were all settled under Major Templeton's own roof, 
and Charles Vandoorn an entered partner in his 
flourishing business. 

In the village of Rochester, upon one of its retired 
streets, may now be seen their happy mansion, whose 
external walls are ornamented with honeysuckle, 
woodbine and the shady boughs of the charming lo- 
cust tree, while the inside apartments are consecrated 
to friendship, unanimity, hospitality and peace. 

" Blest be that spot where gentle guests retire, 
To pause from toil and trim their evening fire ; 
Blest that abode where want and pain repair, 
And every stranger finds a ready chair. 

Blest be those feasts with simple plenty crown'd, 

Where all the ruddy family around 

Laugh at the jest or pranks that never fail, 

Or sigh with pity at some mournful tale, 

Or press the bashful stranger to his food, 

And learn the luxury of" doing good." 



To reduce stocK before removal, we 
offer one=half off on Legal Blanks in 
this list. 



ANNA ROWLAND, OR FOLLY AND ITS 
EFFECTS. 



A thing of air — not to be blam'd, 
For human was that being nam'd. 



It was September. A mid forenoon sun was dart- 
ing his brilliant rays upon a little white villa situated 
upon the bank of the Lamoille river, and peeping 
over the roofs of many lofty mansions, in their impar- 
tial course, descended upon a humble cottage. 

Mrs. Rowland, the occupant, was impatiently 
awaiting the appearance of her daughter at the 
breakfast table, who was as yet detaining the flight 
of Morpheus in her own chamber. When at length 
she came down, she was accosted by her mother with 
" Anna, my dear — shall we have the company of 
Mr. Peters at tea this evening'? " " No, mamma — he 



88 GREEN MOUNTAIN LIFE. 

has gone to B to-day on urgent business ; but he 

returns to-night, and the day after tomorrow I am to 
accompany him to St. Regis." " Really ! my child — 
what a kind, benevolent man he is ; the world may 
vent its calumny, and villify him as they please, but 
in despite of all, he is not afraid to pass the dwellings 
of the great, to bless our humble cottage with his 
smiles. Did you not think, my dear, he was un- 
usually affable and condescending last evening?" 
" Oh yes, mamma — and see, after you had retired, he 
presented me with this beautiful piece of Gros de 
Naples, in which he says I must appear at St. 
Regis." 

An unusual good humor pervaded the countenances 
of the mother and daughter, as they plied their 
needles through the day to complete the elegant 
robe. 

Mrs. Rowland was a widow, in very dependent 
circumstances, and with her daughter Anna, occu- 
pied a humble, yet rented tenement. Unfortunately 
they did not possess the " Pearl of great price," be- 
ing destitute of both discretion and discernment. 
Anna's ideas were ever the offspring of giddy fancy, 
consequently she acted from the same impulse. 
Continual aberrations elicited from the world continual 
reproach ; but regardless of all, she sought the public 
eye, where she flitted in gay attire, and seemed the 
happiest of the maiden throng. She possessed an 
elegant form, with features almost angelic, which a 



ANNA ROWLAND. 89 

virtuous mind would have rendered captivating ; but 
from the lack of which, by the wise and prudent, she 
was unnoticed. Many of her hours had been passed 
in plodding through the pages of poisonous novels, 
which weakened a previous faulty judgment, until 
uppermost in her mind's eye stood lords, dukes, etc., 
to some one of whom^ she verily believed she was 
destined by the Fates. 

Thus one Sabbath she entered the village church, 
where she had scarcely seated herself ere her atten- 
tion was arrested by a tall, elegant gentleman, who 
was proceeding up the broad aisle. He appeared to 
be about thirty, and the ease of his manners and rich- 
ness of his apparel bespoke him to be a person of 
high standing. In vain she sought to gain his atten- 
tion, for she had taken a distant seat ; but scarce had 
the "Amen!" passed the clergyman's lips, when 
she commenced her inquiries of ' ' who was the gen- 
tleman with the blue velvet coat and plaited ruffles?" 
At length, to her infinite gratification, she learned 
that it was Squire Peters, the great landholder, who 
had come to take up his residence for a few months 
in the village. 

The succeeding week she was employed in adjust- 
ing her wardrobe, and when the anticipated Sabbath 
morning appeared, awaited with the utmost impa- 
tience, the sound of the " church calling bell." The 
throng passed on — and it was not until the last indi- 
vidual had entered, that she appeared. A light step 



90 GREEN MOUNTAIN LIFE. 

was heard, and the assembly involuntarily turned, 
when a form, lovely as Venus, came forward, arrayed 
in snow white Swiss, with a profusion of pink trim- 
mings. A leghorn hat, ornamented with artificial 
flowers, was placed gracefully upon the top of her 
head, under which a multiplicity of dark curls shaded 
a forehead of ivory, and a pair of hazle eyes were 
beaming with "killing expression." The dimples 
upon her cheeks displayed themselves, as with 
" stately step, and slow," she passed the seat in 
which Mr. Peters was located, and turning to one 
nearly opposite, seated herself by her friend Miss 
Bridgly. Scarcely had she sat down, ere her eye 
was directed to the object of her search, who, to her 
intense gratification, she found had his own fixed 
upon her with rivetted gaze. A soft flush of the 
cheek and a modest, downfalling of the eye, were the 
inevitable consequence, which however did not re- 
main long in "lowly penance," for she somehow 
became conscious that she had gained an important 
victory over the preacher, and was herself the object 
of the stranger's most particular attention. Upon 
leaving the church, she glided past him, and had the 
felicity of hearing him exclaim, " What angel is 
that!" 

Edward Peters, who was an ardent admirer of the 
softer sex, was indeed amazingly struck by the 
charms of Anna Rowland, upon which he expatiated 
with enthusiasm. As we have described his noble, 



ANNA ROWLAND. 91 

manly form, it is added with regret, that he was one 
of those unprincipled beings, who make the gratifica- 
tion of self their leading aim. He was wealthy and 
claimed affinity with many very opulent and respecta- 
ble families. Yet an early acquaintance with the 
vices of the world, had rendered him misanthropic, 
and his breast was callous to the calls of pity and be- 
nevolence. He introduced himself to the lowly cot- 
tage of Mrs. Rowland, where the reception he met, 
induced him to renew his visits. In vain the friend 
of humanity whispered in Anna's ear, "beware! " — 
the warning she thought was dictated by envy, and 
to receive the attentions of so rich a man as Esq. 
Peters, was a felicity — a realization of romance, too 
great to resign. 

The impatiently waited for hour, at length arrived, 
and arrayed in her Gros de Naples, Anna was seated 
beside Mr. Peters, and on her way to the famous 
town of St. Regis, the meeting of whose mighty 
waters had been celebrated beyond the Atlantic 
Ocean. The eccentric tribe of Indians were to feed 
her gaze, and fancy brought to her mind pleasures 
unnumbered — honors untold — and an elevation, upon 
which she could look down upon her envious advisers, 
and triumph over their scorn. 

One week elapsed, and she returned, happy — happy 
m the continued smiles of Mr. Peters — happy in the 
package of rich presents which proceeded from his 
7 



92 GREEN MOUNTAIN LIFE. 

bounty — and happy in the approval of her fond, but 
short-sighted mother. Thus week followed week, 
and Anna had already begun to anticipate her bridal 
dress. Mr. Peters had promised, that when his 
business was completed, he would conduct her to 
Philadelphia, where, she doubted not, she was to 
become his bride. 

" Fatal dream — delusion all." 

A few weeks passed, when it was observed that 
Anna had become very sedate, and rumor whispered 
that Mr. Peters was growing remiss in his attentions, 
though he was still seen occasionally to enter the 
cottage ; when one morning Mrs. Rowland was seen 
early abroad, and the query was heard from her, 
" Have you seen my Anna?" She was indeed 
missing, as was her apparel also, which excited in 
the mind of her mother the greatest alarm. Upon 
inquiry, it was found that Mr. Peters was absent 
also, and that she had eloped with him, there could 
be no doubt. The agony of the deserted mother 
was intense, and she did now reflect — reflect with 
deep sorrow upon her own imprudence. She had 
believed that his attentions were honorable, and as 
many females of lowly birth had been raised by mar- 
riage, she had flattered herself that such was to be 
the lot of her child, the advantages from which she 
hoped herself to share . 



ANNA ROWLAND. 93 

After the expiration of a few days, Mr. Peters re- 
turned ; but he was not to be questioned concerning 
Anna. He assumed a haughty mien, the prayers 
and tears of her wretched mother being unregarded. 
He even wounded her by reproaches. " If she was 
not herself the guardian of her daughter's footsteps — 
if she permitted her to aberrate from the rules of 
virtue and propriety — was he to be questioned con- 
cerning her failings, and did she presume to call him 
to account] " 

No legal measures could be taken to enforce an 
explanation, and the unhappy mother was doomed to 
pass months in agonizing suspense as to the fate of 
her daughter. Mr. Peters took an indifferent leave, 
and returned to his home ; while inquiries were 
prosecuted with no effect. 



The inhabitants of G r, a Canadian fron- 
tier, were aroused one morning by the solemn 
sound of the tolling bell, and anxiously inquired who 
had been summoned from their number, by unex- 
pected death. No answer could be obtained, and 
they were about to conclude that some unseen 
angel had descended and pulled the rope, as a 
warning to a dire calamity which must be approach- 
ing, when a woman came forward and confessed the 
whole. 



94 GREEN MOUNTAIN LIFE. 

" It is a stranger,'''' said she, "who came to my 
house about three months ago, as a private boarder. 
She said hei name was Anna — and was a young 
lady of much beauty ; but a mystery was attached 
to her history, which I am unable to explain. She 
was accompanied by a gentleman, who appeared to 
be much her superior — who stated that he wished to 
commit her to my care for a few weeks, when he 
would return and take her away, at the same time 
remunerating me in advance. I am inclined to think 
he is not what he should be, though the young lady 
seemed to place implicit confidence in him, and was 
hourly expecting his return, when she was taken 
suddenly ill, and after languishing a few days, ex- 
pired this morning, in my arms. I shall never forget 
the earnestness with which, in her dying struggles, 
she called upon Mr. Peters, and desired me to look 
out and see if he was not coming." 

This singular account was published, and it met 
the eye of Mrs. Rowland. She hastened to the 

village of G r, and rested not till she 

entered the dwelling of Mrs. L , where her eye 

was instantly attracted to the Gros de Naples robe, 
which hung suspended from the frame of the now 
vacant bed. Suspense was instantly at end, and 
she exclaimed in a paroxysm of painful emotion, 
" Oh my God ! — it was — it was my Anna." As she 
paced the room, wringing her hands, and venting 
her bitter tears, she beheld a cradle, in which was a 



ANNA ROWLAND. 95 

sleeping infant. "It was hers" said Mrs. L . 

" Oh Heavens ! — was that my Anna's child? " — and 
the frantic mother fainted. 

Let the joyless dwelling of the desolate widow, 
with the grave of the infant by its side, bespeak the 
warning of wisdom — ' ' Listen not to the voice of the 
charmer," &c. 



THE TRANSFORMATION. 



Amelia H was an orphan. She had been 

early adopted by her uncle, Mr. Francis Horton, an 
eminent lawyer, by whom she was nurtured in the 
most tender and affectionate manner, he ever supply- 
ing the place of a kind and indulgent father. Not 
thus with Mrs. Horton. Though she had but one 
child on whom to lavish her fondness, the little or- 
phan Amelia was to her an object of cold and rigid 
indifference, and those maternal caresses, so indis- 
pensable to the happiness of juvenile years, to her 
were unknown. In the presence of her uncle, she 
was lively, social, and endearing ; but by his frequent 
and long absence from home, she gradually imbibed 
habits of melancholy. 

Though Mrs. H had acquired the title of a 

tender mother, yet she was said to be a person of 
peculiar propensities. In her manners she was easy. 



THE TRANSFORMATION. 97 

affable, and frank ; while to those whom her fancy 
singled out as objects worthy of her notice, these 
qualities were displayed without reserve ; and to be- 
come a favorite of hers, was a felicity too great to 
fall to the lot of many, so unwearied were her exer- 
tions, and so gratifying the methods by which she 
strove to please. To the contrary, her prejudices 
were equally pointed, and highly detrimental ; and 
not a few were doomed to feel the point of her lash. 
"Where once she had taken a dislike, the most merci- 
less persecution was sure to follow ; nothing could 
serve to ameliorate or soften her bitterness. Unhap- 
pily for Amelia, it was her lot to fall under the last 
mentioned number ; and though possessing every 
amiable quality, gentle, modest, unassuming, and 

sincere, yet the affections of Mrs. H were not to 

be yielded to her, and she existed in the presence of 
her aunt, destitute of all that tenderness — that cor- 
diality so necessary to call forth the natural propen- 
sities to affectionate friendship that struggled in her 
bosom. 

Years passed on, and she grew a " lone neglected 
flower." One bosom alone participated in her sor- 
rows, and imparted the balm of sympathy. Elena 
Seymour was the happy child of fond parents, and 
her bosom felt and bled for the sorrows of her orphan 
friend. Yet stolen interviews were all they were 
permitted to enjoy, so vigilant was Mrs. H and 



98 GREEN MOUNTAIN LIFE. 

so oppressive the cares that were entailed upon 
Amelia. 

With her uncle, as we have said, she was habit- 
ually social and familiar ; consequently he did not 
sufficiently realize the peculiarities of her situation, 
nor the increasing melancholy that was gathering 
upon her, as she was too noble to wound his peace 
by a recital of her aunt's failings. Every one be- 
came lavish in praise of the lovely Amelia, who had 
now just entered her fifteenth year ; and often was 
the question passed from one to another, " Why does 
not Mrs. Horton better love and cherish that inter- 
esting girl ? ' ' 

At length Amelia obtained leave of her uncle to 
spend a few months with a relative of her deceased 
father, who resided in a pleasant village upon the 
banks of Lake Champlain. Thither she went, where 
she met the most affectionate reception, and where 
she received every advantage in their power to im- 
part. Sweet were the hours of affectionate converse 
she there enjoyed, and when she thought of Mrs. 

H , and the cheerless corner in which it was her 

lot to sit in silence and unnoticed, the contrast was so 
painful, that she said to herself, " Much as I love 
and revere my kind uncle, I cannot return to his 
cheerless roof again." But at his solicitation, she 
did again return, and the cold reception she met from 
her aunt, was too much for her sensibilities to sup- 
port — she resigned the splendors of a superb man- 



THE TRANSFORxMATION. 99 

sion, where happiness she could not find, and once 
more returned to the cordial embrace of her true 
friends, Mr. and Mrs. D , who, though not af- 
fluent, were highly respected, and moved in the best 
circle the vicinity afforded. 

One afternoon, as Mrs. D and Amelia were 

sitting alone, engaged in interesting conversation, a 
rap upon the door announced a visitor. A friend of 

Mr. D 's entered, accompanied by a gentleman of 

most prepossessing appearance, whom he introduced 
as a Mr. Goodwin from New York. Mrs. D in- 
stantly recognized him as a playmate in childhood. 
The meeting was cordial and affectionate, on both 
sides, and he was importuned to pass a few days 
with them, to which he readily assented. How 
greatly surprised and pleased were they, when they 
learned from inquiry, that their truant schoolmate 
Eugene, was now Col. Goodwin, and one of the 
most active merchants in New York. 

The evening passed pleasantly to the greeting 
friends, and though Amelia was not talkative, yet 
she now and then ventured a remark, which indicated 
that she was not insensible to the enjoyment of her 

friends. She had been introduced to Col. G , as 

their "Orphan Cousin," and her modesty of de- 
meanor, together with the sense and propriety of her 
conversation, soon gained his notice ; and when upon 
inquiry the next day, he learned her unhappy his- 
tory, his attentions became redoubled, and ere he de- 

LoJ 



100 GREEN MOUNTAIN LIFE. 

parted, he signified to Mr. and Mrs. D his in- 
tention to address her, and if possible win her affec- 
tions, which was assented to by them unhesitatingly. 



Twelve months afterward, a splendid carriage, 
with a black driver in attendance, was seen turning 

a corner and advancing to the dwelling of Mr. D . 

It was Col. Goodwin — come to claim the heart he 
had happily won — and Amelia was now to become 
his bride. Her wedding robe, of the richest mate- 
rial, had been selected, and presented by himself. 
Her invaluable friend, Elena Seymour, was already 
present, who was to act as chosen bridesmaid. 
A general invitation was circulated through the 
neighborhood, and Mr. Horton and Lady were 
also invited ; but unfortunately he was confined 
by indisposition, and thus prevented from witnessing 
the happiness of his beloved niece, which sufficed 
as a proper excuse for the non-attendance of her 
aunt also. 

In a few days, having obtained leave of Miss Sey- 
mour's parents for her to accompany them, they 
bade adieu to the " Green Mountains of Vermont," 
and repaired to his beautiful residence in the city. 
A less sensible heart than Amelia's must have been 
happy in a situation like hers. In Col. G she 



THE TRANSFORMATION. 101 

found the most kind and affectionate husband ; in his 
associates, amiable and constant friends, and in his 
mansion, plenty and peace. 

But an event soon occurred which damped her 
felicity, and for a while shrouded her mind in gloom. 
It was the death of her beloved uncle. She assumed 
the mourner's garb, and for a few days almost refused 
to be comforted. 

Years sped on rapid wing, and no intelligence 
had reached her from Madam Horton. She had now 
become the joyful mother of two little cherub babes, 
to whom they had given the names of Elena and 
Francis. Her earthly bliss seemed complete. June, 
the month of flowers, had arrived. She took the 
arm of her husband, and with each a prattler by the 
hand, they sallied forth, to enjoy a morning walk. 
An unusual animation flushed the cheek of Amelia, 
as she viewed the glorious works of nature ; listened 
to the aerial songsters, and thought upon the bounti- 
fulness of that Creator who bestows so many bles- 
sings for the enjoyment of unworthy creatures. She 
thought of her orphanage — of her destitution — and 
she sought a comparison between former days and 
the present — when her eye suddenly rested upon an 
indifferently clad female, who was advancing upon 
the same side of the walk, and from whom, as she 
drew nearer, they heard the query, " Pray sir, can 
you direct ine to the dwelling of Col. Goodwin?" 



102 GREEN MOUNTAIN LIFE. 

They started — the voice was familiar — Amelia looked 
again — yes — it was indeed Lady Horton ! 

She was nearly fainting when Amelia accosted 
her, and a crimson flush followed the salutation. 
Though shocked and surprised, they immediately 
invited her to their house ; and when they listened 
to the trials and distresses that she had encoun- 
tered, the tear of sympathy flowed freely from their 
eyes. 

Upon the death of Mr. Horton, it was found after 
an investigation, that his property could not answer 
demands — it was sold — the widow and her son were 
left homeless and penniless. Her friends had been 
few, and that few deserted her in adversity. Her 
son, spoiled by indulgence, became dissipated, and 
regardless of the claims of a dependent mother, had 
gone to "parts unknown." She had come humbly 
to crave a refuge — an asylum from want, in the 
peaceful and well furnished mansion of that Amelia 
whom, in her better days, she had treated with such 
unfeeling cruelty and neglect. She was received — 
and Amelia and her kind husband strove by eveiy 
means in their power, to render her remaining days 
comfortable and happy. 

Thus virtue meets its reward, and thus Providence 
avenges the injuries of the innocent. Thus did he 
see fit to bring about a " transformation," which to 
Lady Horton was as little expected, as to the once 



THE TRANSFORMATION. 103 

mourning and desolate Amelia. But she is now in 
her grave — while Col. and Mrs. Goodwin still live, 
moving in the highest ranks, and blessings are in- 
voked upon them by hundreds of the poor, who have 
shared their generous bounty. 



LOVE AND DISAPPOINTMENT. 



In a mountainous part of the state of Vermont, 
where nature is arrayed in its greatest variety and 
most romantic dresses, stood an elegant mansion. 
Although not ornamented with turrets and towers, 
yet to the passing traveller it presented a magnifi- 
cent appearance, which, however, was far surpassed 
by the surrounding scenery. 

On the eastern side, a stream of considerable mag- 
nitude wound its way through the bosom of a green 
meadow, on which numerous animals were seen feed- 
ing and bounding in playful frolic. The surface of 
the stream was smooth and tranquil, and the reflec- 
tion upon its bosom of the trees, shrubs and flowers, 
which grew upon its banks, imparted to the beholder 
almost a belief that there was magic blended with the 



LOVE AND DISAPPOINTMENT. 105 

The western side of this domain was bounded by 
a lofty hill, which rose gradually, until it terminated 
in a lofty summit, which was ornamented with white 
birches, in whose branches the "melodious tribe" 
sought a refuge from disturbing art, and around their 
securely implanted dwellings in the branches of the 
trees, chanted their melodious strains in sweet 
numbers. It was a lovely spot, where the inmates 
of the mansion often ascended with their guests to 
gaze with admiration on the scene below. 

The mansion, with its various appurtenances, 
which to the eye of the traveller indicated an ap- 
proach to some little villa — the gentle stream, pur- 
suing its serpentine course through the now distant 
meadow and an adjoining wood, where its course was 
distinctly marked for miles, as it traversed its way to 
the Canadian province — together with a town in the 
distance, whose glittering steeples displayed the 
pride and dignity of art, completed the view. 

Mr. Leving, the owner of the mansion, had five 
children — three sons and two daughters. Albert, 
the subject of this narrative, was then in his twenty- 
first year. The indulgence of kind parents had en- 
dowed him with a liberal education, which, together 
with the pleasing gifts bestowed by nature, rendered 
him an interesting companion. Possessing solid 
sense, together with a mind cultivated by educa- 
tion, he surmounted that pride and vanity which 
too often gains ascendancy over the youthful mind, 



106 GREEN MOUNTAIN LIFE. 

and taxing- his reflective powers, obtained a self dis- 
cipline. 

Soon after his return from college, his attention 
became attracted by a young female, who resided in 
the family as a domestic. Her name was Louisa 

B ; scarcely seventeen years of age. She was 

modest, and from the situation in which she was 
placed as a domestic, she was retiring and diffident. 
Her form was of elegant mould ; and her features, 
although not shiningly beautiful, were still regular, 
and there was an expression in her dark hazle eye, 
and an ease in her motion, which could not fail to 
attract notice. He at first merely felt regret, that a 
being, to appearance so interesting — so intelligent, 
and so sensitive, should be fated to waste its sweet- 
ness in the confines of a dreary kitchen ; but day 
after day, as he saw her flitting before him, and 
occasionally caught a glimpse of her soul-speaking 
eye, his pity began to transform to admiration. He 
sought opportunities to address her, and to all his 
remarks she replied with so much propriety, that ere 
he became aware, a tenderness had sprung up in his 
bosom. He left the society of his mother and sis- 
ters, to seek the lonely one at her daily toilsome avo- 
cations, where with friendly assiduity he sought to 
discover the worth of a soul in which he already felt 
himself but too deeply interested. This was not to 
pass unregarded by his mother and more vigilant 
sisters, who, though naturally mild and amiable, yet 



LOVE AND DISAPPOINTMENT. 107 

the love of greatness had been early instilled upon 
their minds, where a limited education had permitted 
it to take deep root ; and consequently, there could 
be no worth, no respectability, no claim to notice, 
in their opinions, where there were not riches and 
honors to ensure it. They would have thought it 
the greatest disgrace that could befal their illustrious 
family, to see one of its members connected with a 
poor " Plebian servant," of their own household. 

One evening the moon was shining with unsullied 
splendor, and all nature seemed as if tranquilized by 
its mellow beams. Louisa stole softly from the 
" scene of her toiling," and stepping lightly over the 
verdant mead, seated herself beneath the shadowy 
branches of a favorite willow upon the bank of the 
stream, where she indulged in a train of melancholy 
reflections. The image of Albert Leving, all noble 
and amiable as he was, obtruded upon her thoughts. 
The language of sympathy, when uttered to a heart 
of sensibility, leaves a deep impression. She felt 
that he was the most perfect being in creation, and 
that gratitude in her bosom must continue unabated 
through life. She was unhappy — she knew not why 
— and in the overflow of her heart's emotions she 
exclaimed, "Oh Albert! — dear, noble Albert! — 
it was not till I met with thee, that I thought upon 
my lowly situation with feelings of sorrow and re- 
gret." — Just as the last word escaped her lips she 
8* 



108 GREEN MOUNTAIN LIFE. 

was aroused by a tap on the shoulder, and suddenly 
springing up, found herself by the side of Albert 
Leving. Unconscious that Louisa was abroad, and 
feeling himself in pensive mood, he stepped out, and 
involuntarily took the same path, where, as he pro- 
ceeded indulging his own reflections, he was aroused 
by the sound of her voice, uttering the foregoing 
exclamation. His surprise was only equalled by his 
joy, and taking her arm in his, they wandered upon 
the banks of the flowing stream, where in the fulness 
of his heart, he revealed to her all its emotions — 
" Yes, dearest Louisa," said he, "I feel that I can- 
not be happy without you — earth can possess no 
charm for me, unless the blessing of your society be 
added — you are my first and only love — but alas ! 
I greatly fear that my friends, infected as they are 
with false notions of greatness and honors, will never 
consent to our union — yet only say that you will be 
mine — that you will share my fate, and I will here 
solemnly swear, in the presence of Heaven, and all 
those shining stars above — that I will wed no one but 
you." 

They separated and returned to the mansion — 
he to his splendid apartment decorated with every 
ornament, and she to her humble cot. The jealousy 
of his mother and sisters had already been excited — 
and their vigilance soon discovered that the objects 
of their watch had both been absent at the same 



LOVE AND DISAPPOINTMENT, 109 

hour. But morning beamed again, and Albert en- 
tered the parlor, where a sullen silence pervaded — his 
dignified mother and stately sisters were there, yet the 
familiar sound of " good morning," was not heard ; 
and he felt assured that a storm — an inevitable storm, 
was fast gathering. There was something upon the 
brow of his mother that deeply affected him ; to her 
he had ever felt himself peculiarly attached ; she 
had never in the course of her life given him an un- 
kind word, and he was accustomed to resort to her 
for advice in every emergency, when her soothing 
power was never without its effect in tranquilizing 
his disturbed mind. He felt that she was dearer 
to him than life, and he would have made almost 
any sacrifice, to render her happy — but this — this 
was a case upon which his own happiness entirely 
depended — " and shall I," he said to himself, " shall 
I sacrifice my dearest earthly hope, to a mistaken 
sentiment deeply rooted in the minds of my mother 
and sisters ? ' ' 

Scarcely was the breakfast equipage removed, ere 
the assault commenced. Albert was considerably 
agitated at first ; but dissimulation was not in his 
nature. He frankly owned his attachment to the 
innocent Louisa, and interceded for permission to 
make her his own. His father was thunderstruck at 
this declaration, but the mother and sisters were 
mute with anger, until he attempted to portray the 



110 GREEN MOUNTAIN LIFE. 

merits of Louisa, when they instantly called her into 
the room and dismissed her from their service, with 
orders to leave immediately, and never to disgrace 
them by a second appearance. 

This was a shock to Albert, who stood petrified 
with astonishment and grief — while the terrified and 
trembling Louisa disappeared. In vain did he at- 
tempt to excite their pity for an injured and helpless 
female — they were inexorable ; when at last, leav- 
ing his persecutors, he hastened, in order to console, 
if possible, her who for his sake, had been thus vic- 
timised ; but she was already gone — and he was 
never again to behold her to whom he had confided 
his heart, and to whom he felt that he was, in soul, 
inseparably united. 

He retired to his chamber, and throwing himself 
upon a sofa, gave vent to a flood of tears. Again 
he strove to reflect ; from earliest infancy he had 
felt a reverence for his mother, superior to that duty 
which he had ever paid his less passionate father. 
She was literally his sole guide ; consequently his 
feelings were doubly aggravated by a sense of her 
displeasure. "And shall I," said he, "sacrifice 
her happiness, and the affection and unanimity of 
the family, to the indulgence of an attachment which 
they disapprove 1 Ah ! no — it must not be — I will 
conquer it — and restore peace. But my vow — yes — 
I will keep it sacredly — and though I resign my love 



LOVE AND DISAPPOINTMENT. Ill 

to the peace of those by whom I am connected by- 
nature's ties, yet will I never wed any other." 

Thus did he resolve — and thus did he perform. 
He wrote to Louisa a letter, in which he portrayed 
the bitterness of his feelings — the inflexibility of his 
parents, and the conviction that it was his duty 
to sacrifice his own happiness to promote that of 
the authors of his being, exhorted her to fortitude, 
and concluded with the assurance of unchanging 
affection. 

A melancholy gathered upon him ; he shunned 
society ; the meadow and its winding stream were 
the chief place of his resort, where for hours he set 
in deep and sad reverie — books, which had ever be- 
fore been seized with avidity, were now tasteless 
and insipid. The pen he could not wield — his ideas 
were distant and unconnected. In short, all those 
rich qualities with which his mind had been so 
abundantly adorned, were fated to inaction. A 
blight had come over him, which no human power 
could remove ; his faculties became dormant, and 
renovation hopeless. 

He remained in the paternal mansion till his 
brothers and sisters had all departed ; till his parents 
themselves w r ere laid in the silent grave ; and then 
he did not leave it — the sole inhabitant of that now 
desolate tenement — he lives alone — a solitary recluse 
— cheerless and unconsoled — not pulseless, but heart- 



112 GREEN MOUNTAIN LIFE. 

less — dead to every social feeling- ; and completely 
sundered from the chain that binds man to man. 
Reader ! hast thou sensibility ? dost thou know the 
value of high intellect ? come with me — look in at 
the door of that old dilapidated mansion — behold 
a human wreck. 



A TRAVELLING ADVENTURE. 



It was a lovely day in June — I had just arose from 
Breakfast table, when the ringing of the steamboat 
bell reminded me that it was time to seek my lot 
among its motley passengers. 

I had never been on board a steamboat, and when 
I stepped from the wharf upon deck and saw it in mo- 
tion, with the land receding from view, my emotions 
became indescribable. I looked around upon my fel- 
low passengers for some one to whom I might impart 
my feelings, but there was no recognition of feature ; 
every face was new, and to my hasty imagination, 
every heart was cold. 

I seated myself upon deck and became completely 
engrossed by varying scenery that constantly met my 
view. I was now gliding upon the waters of the 
noble St. Lawrence river — scarce a breeze whispered 
to disturb the tranquillity of its bosom. The guu wa& 



114 GREEN MOUNTAIN LIFE. 

shining in noon splendor, and the glassy surface of 
the waters reflected thousands of beauteous images. 
Green mantled islands, like fairy castles, were con- 
tinually approaching and receding, while the white 
sails of the schooners, which at first appeared but a 
speck in the distance, gradually neared till their wide 
spreading folds were almost flapping over us. 

Never shall I forget my pleasing emotions while 
sailing upon this most delightful of rivers. 

Whose praise, the muse on lofty wing, 
May strive, but strive in vain to sing. 

But we reluctantly bade it adieu and launched upon 
the broad and turbulent waters of Ontario. The 
view was now entirely diversified — instead of the 
placid river with the vernal life upon its banks, we 
saw but one wide waste of waters, without an ob- 
ject upon which to rest the eye. As we were rap- 
idly propelled over its huge and threatening waves, I 
could not but reflect how much it resembled the jour- 
ney of life. In youth we sail tranquilly upon a love- 
ly river, whose fanciful surface displays neither shoals 
nor quicksands ; our hearts beat in unison with its 
even wave ; but we are gradually conducted upon a 
broad ocean, whose roaring billow r s (cares and sor- 
rows) are threatening continually to engnlph us, and 
we look to the star of hope to guide us, even as we 
were then looking for the light-house which was to 
conduct us to a tranquil haven. 



A TRAVELLING ADVENTURE. 115 

At length its distant glimmer appeared, and we 
anchored at the beautiful village of Sacket's Harbor. 
In the morning I ascended the upper deck, where I 
had a most delightful view of the place. The har- 
bor itself is romantically situated, and many vessels 
were lying quietly within, but the objects most to in" 
terest the traveller are the military barracks, fortifi- 
cations, &c. We left this lovely spot and in a few 
hours found ourselves at anchor before the populous, 
but less interesting village of Oswego. The in- 
habitants appeared to be deep fraught with curi- 
osity, as they thronged upon the decks until we were 
near suffocation ; but happily our stay was short ; 
the deck was cleared, and we were happy again to 
breathe freely. When morning again opened her 
" rosy gates " we found ourselves quietly reposing 
in the mouth of the Genesee river. Within a few 
paces on shore was an indifferent looking Inn, to 
which I repaired, and was not a little amused to find 
that I was then in Greece. 

There was nothing in the interior of the building 
to interest, and I went into the piazza, where I stood 
gazing upon the mighty waters whose trackless bo- 
som I had braved, when my attention was arrested by 
the arrival of a chaise, from which a handsome fe- 
male, assisted by a gentleman of most prepossessing 
appearance, was descending. I felt an instantaneous 
conviction that her features were familiar, yet when 
or where I had seen her I could not determine. At 
9 



116 GREEN MOUNTAIN LIFE. 

length I accosted her — " I think, madam, I have seen 
you elsewhere— am I mistaken 1 ' ' Her face was in- 
stantly suffused with crimson, as she replied, " I 
think not." But the impression was not to be done 
away, and I had the impertinence to question her 
still further. "You are about to take a passage 
over the lake, are you not? " " Yes ; I am on my 
way to Kingston." " Have not I seen you in Ver- 
mont ? " " It is my native place. " " Florella Cam- 
bell of L ." " Yes." " Good heavens,— do I 

see you here 1 ' ' 

At this moment the gentleman who accompanied 
her entered and informed her that he had engaged a 
passage, and the vessel was to sail immediately. She 
hastily arose and introduced me to Mr. Staunton, 
then taking his arm bade me adieu, and with ani- 
mated step proceeded to the vessel. I gazed anxious- 
ly after them, overwhelmed with painful recollections. 
A few minutes only had passed when I heard the 
wild piercing shrieks of a female — the vessel was 
underweigh, and I distinctly saw the white robes of 
Florella, and she paced the deck wringing her hands 
and giving vent to loud lamentations. Soon I be- 
held Mr. Staunton approaching. " I conjure you, 
sir," said I, "to explain to me the painful scene I 
am witnessing." " You have had former acquaint- 
ance w r ith Miss Cambell," said he, "and maybe 
aware that her deportment has not been such as to 
reflect credit upon herself nor her friends. I am 



A TRAVELLING ADVENTURE. 117 

truly sorry to make this confession, but am led to it 
by way of extenuating what to you may appear like 
baseness in myself. I will, if you please, give a brief 
account of my first acquaintance and subsequent in- 
tercourse with her, leaving you to judge how far I 
am culpable. I first met with her about three months 
since in the city of Rochester. I was idly sauntering 
in the Arcade, when I observed a lady of surpassing 
beauty walking up to the post-office and heard her in- 
quire, * A letter for Florella Cambell, sir?' The 
answer was in the negative, and a thoughtless friend 
of mine stepping up saluted her, and gave me an in- 
troduction. Her beauty was fascinating, and I, a 
weak mortal, felt its power. I begged for her ad- 
dress, which she gave me, and I soon became her de- 
voted admirer. Notwithstanding I had a wife whom 
I fondly loved, yet was I led by this ' syren Eve ' to 
forget my sacred obligations and bow at her fatal 
shrine. At length remorse preyed upon me and I 
felt sincere compunction. Calling upon her one eve- 
ning, I stated the necessity of absenting myself; to 
which she strenuously remonstrated, assuring me that 
if I deserted her, she would expose me to my wife — 
my constant, faithful Eliza. The thought of break- 
ing her heart excited me to stratagem, and I proposed 
to accompany her to Kingston. Depositing with the 
captain of the vessel a sum sufficient to defray her 
passage, I accompanied her on board, then stepped 
off, as she supposed for my trunk, but in reality to 



118 GREEN MOUNTAIN LIFE. 

escape from one who has meted out sorrow for my 
future days." 

The stage having come to the door, in which I had 
bespoken a seat, I assured Mr. Staunton that his 
treatment of Florella was, in my opinion, such as the 
world at large must justify, and wishing him strength 
for the performance of his virtuous resolutions, bade 
him farewell. Reclining upon my seat, I soon fell 
into a train of sober reflections. Poor, misguided, un- 
happy Florella, thought I. I knew her once when 
the parental roof was her shelter, and she smiled 
and carroled one of a happy train of sisters. How 
reversed is now her lot. Possessing uncommon 
beauty of person, together with a lively and ready 
wit, she became in the eyes of her devoted parents, 
almost superhuman, her inclinations being sacredly 
indulged ; and while she was digressing from the 
ways of virtue and innocence, the tongues that should 
have restrained her were palsied by admiration, until 
by one fatal step, she forfeited the respect and es- 
teem of every virtuous heart. Many were the ad- 
mirers that sought by flattery to win her smiles, until 
the " song of love " had drowned every moral prin- 
ciple of her nature. Then came a forbidden one — one 
who had solemnly plighted his vows to another, and 
the day of their marriage union had been named. 
With him she eloped and went to a distant land, 
leaving an amiable and heart-broken young lady to 
wear out her days in disappointment and sorrow. 



A TRAVELLING ADVENTURE. 119 

But the heart that had broken its ^rs£ tie, was not to 
be chained by a conquest thus effected, and he soon 
deserted her in a land of strangers, where she sought 
by her still brilliant charms to obtain new victims. 
May she turn from the evil of her ways and once 
more return to her desolated home, and cheer, by a 
new course of conduct, the declining days of a heart- 
stricken parent. 



THE VICTIM TO AN ERROR. 



Near a populous village in the province of Lower 
Canada, stood the dwelling of Mr. Sumner ; the 
picturesque scenery around which, excited the behold- 
er to sensations of peculiar admiration. The dwel- 
ling itself, a magnificent edifice, was nearly surround- 
ed by a grove of youthful maples, through an open- 
ing in which, upon one side, the eye fell upon the 
beautiful waters of the Sorelle river, and following 
its course one hundred rods, rested upon the towering 
steeples, elegant mansions, and decaying fortifications 
of St. Johns. 

Mr. Sumner, though professedly an agriculturist, 
was nevertheless a man of wealth and opulence. 
Born and nurtured in "Brittania's Isle," he early emi- 
grated to the Province, and in one of his secular ex- 
cursions into the State of Vermont, met with a Miss 
Ormsby, whose artless manners, amiable disposition, 



THE VICTIM TO AN ERROR. 121 

and beauty of person, won his affections, and though 
"free born " she nevertheless yielded her heart a 
slave to the captivating graces of an Englishman, and 
condescended to share with him the rural delights of 
his charming seat upon the banks of the Sorelle. 
Although recoiling at first from the rude manners and 
uncultivated tastes of the inhabitants generally, yet 
she was very happy in the society of her husband, 
and derived supreme happiness from rambling with 
him over their extensive domain, which was richly 
variegated with hills, dales, cultivated fields and 
grassy lawns. 

To complete their happiness they were blessed 
with offspring. The same hour presented to their 
arms a pair of cherub twins, a son and daughter, to 
whom they had given the names of George and Mar- 
tha — the former after Mr. Sumner's most gracious 
sovereign, George III, and the latter in honor of the 
wife of Mrs. Sumner's adored chief, George Wash- 
ington. 

As the little prattlers advanced to maturity, no 
pains were spared to give them an education suita- 
ble to their rank and expectations, until the aspiring 
Mr. Sumner had the felicity of hearing them com- 
plimented in every circle. Although bearing in fea- 
ture an exact resemblance, yet in disposition there 
was a sensible reverse. George, though of an affa- 
ble deportment, was possessed of a high , uncontrolla- 
ble spirit, subject to frequent irritation — to whatever 



122 GREEN MOUNTAIN LIFE. 

purpose his mind was bent, passion led him to an ex- 
treme. "My son," said Mrs. Sumner, "partakes 
unaccountably the propensities of his arbitrary name- 
sake — but my daughter is moulded after softer, gent- 
ler, and purer spirits." She was indeed placid, 
meek, patient, moderately ardent, yet deeply affec- 
tionate. An unusual share of delicate sensibility, ex- 
posed her heart to frequent wounds from the hasty 
indiscretions of her brother, who was nevertheless 
sincerely attached to her, and no amusement to him 
was complete unless shared by his sister. 

The happy hours of childhood had flitted on buoy- 
ant wings and hopes of the future came smiling in all 
their illusive brightness. Through the influence of 
his father, George had been appointed to an office, 
which in a few days was to call him from the quiet- 
ness of " Sumner Grove "to the " distracting din " 
of Montreal. They were verging upon nineteen, and 
the evening previous to the anniversary of their birth, 
Mrs. Sumner proposed that the day should be cele- 
brated. An invitation accordingly went forth to all 
the youth in the village, who were to assemble in 
" Sumner Grove " and impart their customary wishes 
and congratulations to the brother and sister, who 
now for the first time in life were to be separated. 
George was in raptures — he repaired to the richly 
ornamented maples and strove by every invention in 
his power to render it an earthly paradise. Settees 
were placed in the arbors — the branches of the trees 



THE VICTIM TO AN ERROR. 123 

were interwoven with each other, while festoons of 
flowers were gaily, interspersed among the boughs. 
One seat was placed more prominent than the rest 
and ornamented with violets, which was intended by 
the artist as emblematic of his sister's virtues, who 
was to occupy it in the capacity of rural queen, and 
place the roseate wreath that hung beside it upon 
the brow of " him whom she delighted to honor. 1 ' 

The company had assembled in groups, and the 
grove soon began to resound with merry voices. Ac- 
companied by her brother, Martha entered, arrayed 
in pure white, with a wreath of violets upon her bo- 
som, and was led by him to her destined throne, where 
each one severally approached and in the height of 
enthusiasm sought to rival one another by an excess 
of high wrought sentiment. Last of all approached 
a hitherto unseen stranger, and bowing profoundly, 
" Madam," said he, " your friends have saluted you 
with complimentary wishes, which to a heart tinctur- 
ed with pride and vanity, must be infinitely gratifying, 
but judging your own differently, I give — 

Be loisdom thy patron — be virtue thy aim, 

And a heart whose perfections shall screen thee from blame." 

The peculiar accent with which he delivered these 
extemporaneous lines, together with a corresponding 
expression of feature, as he turned pensively away 
and seated himself alone, produced an instantaneous 
effect upon the mind of Martha — a something like a 



124 GREEN MOUNTAIN LIFE. 

long- past dream flitted before her — yet the powers of 
recollection, with all the msstery she could assume, 
were not able to clear away the misty fold which 
hung before her mind's eye, and excited to agitation, 
she knew not why, she arose, and taking the wreath, 
passed several times through the circle formed by her 
expectant friends, then suddenly approaching the 
stranger, placed it upon his brow. Astonishment 
pervaded every one, as rising, the youth modestly im- 
printed upon the cheek of his fair patroness a kiss, 
and politely led her back to a seat. 

Notwithstanding the whisperings that followed in 
rapid succession, no one was able to divine who the 
favored stranger might be. Those of her admirers 
who had most hoped for, and found themselves disap- 
pointed of the anticipated honor, began to treat him 
with sarcasms, which being by him apprehended, he 
took an early opportunity to approach Miss Sumner, 
saying in a low voice, " Madam, my thanks for the 
distinction with which you have honored me, excuse 
my abrupt departure — I am no longer welcome here, 
accept my card, and permit me to hope for farther 
acquaintance." So saying, he bowed and walked 
slowly away. 

Servants entered with a collation, consisting of 
every variety the epicure could desire, and amuse- 
ments followed, but Martha took no more a part. 
Her eye had rested on the card — " L. L. Chilton, 
M , Vermont." The blood rushed to her cheek. 



THE VICTIM TO AN ERROR. 125 

Yes ; it was the son of her mother's dearest friend 
whom she had once seen, when in juvenile years she 
accompanied her mother on a visit to her relatives in 
Vermont, and whom she had since heard lauded in 
the most agreeable terms, exciting an undefmable de- 
sire to behold him who had become her "beau ideal " 
of all that was excellent, and whose sentiments she 
fancied were in exact unison with her own. 

The company, little satisfied with their presiding 
queen, left at an early hour, and Martha hastened to 
her parents to impart the interesting intelligence con- 
veyed by the card, which she still held in her hand, 
where the writer leaves her a few moments for the 
purpose of introducing a few remarks. 

'Twas the year 1816, just after the severe strug- 
gle between the United States and Great Britain had 
terminated, and the joyful announcement of peace 
that followed, while the minds of many were still agi- 
tated by emotions of animosity and revenge. Mr. 
Sumner, who was a monarchist in the true sense of the 
term, had sought early to instil his principles upon 
the mind of his son , which had taken deep root and 
flourished upon the unnatural soil of his heart in a 
manner not to be exterminated. Mrs. Sumner, on 
the contrary, had never been able to eradicate the 
precious seeds of republicanism which had been im- 
planted in her bosom by nature and nurtured by rea- 
son. Though she found herself transplanted to a 
different soil, vet she could not hear her beloved 



126 GREEN MOUNTAIN LIFE. 

country and its laws reviled and aspersed without 
feelings of indignation, and often was prompted to 
retaliate, by referring to the meanness of submitting 
to kingly rule — but prudence with her was ever at 
hand, and she stifled the emotion ere it burst forth. 
Martha reciprocated her mother's sentiments most 
cordially, and felt a real partiality for the patriotic 
people who had so bravely defended their " rights " 
and preferred death to slavery. She viewed liberty 
as a sacred boon — a peculiar gift — bestowed by in- 
dulgent Heaven, and designed to bless and happify 
an intelligent people, while monarchy went hand in 
hand with oppression, spreading darkness and misery 
in all their paths. 

The evening subsequent to the anniversary, Mr. 
Sumner and his family had retired to the " Garden 
Saloon" for the purpose of inhaling a fresh breeze 
from the bosom of the river and to enjoy a farewell 
" tete-a-tete '' with George, who the following morn- 
ing was to take his departure. Martha sat pensively 
viewing the tattered British flag, as it waved above 
the fort, when a servant entered and approaching her 
said, "A gentleman who looks as if he might be of 
kin to the Governor of the Canadas, desires me to 
say to you — Mr. Chilton." George started from his 
seat — " Is it that paltry Yankee," said he, " that in- 
truded himself upon our festival and destroyed our 
sport, Martha? — if so, I will be his escort, but not to 
your presence." Mr. Sumner smiled — his wife and 



THE VICTIM TO AN ERROR. 127 

daughter blushed, and rising hastily preceded George 
to the parlor, where they met their guest and ex- 
tended a most cordial welcome. The rising spirit of 
George did not permit him long to stop in the room, 
and he joined his father on a walk to the village. 

Left thus alone with their interesting visitor, the 
time was improved to the satisfaction of all. It was 
a long time since Mrs. Sumner had heard from her 

beloved village of M , and her inquiries were 

many and minute ; but when she spoke of his mother, 
the long and dearly cherished friend of her heart, 
tears forced their way and forbade utterance. A tear 
coursed the manly cheek of Chilton, which was noted 
by Miss Sumner with peculiar emotion, as she felt 
for the first time in her life that she had met with one 
whose correspondent feelings might render her hap- 
py. On her leaving the room to order some refresh- 
ments, Mr. Chilton frankly informed her mother that 
his visit to St. Johns was purposely undertaken on 
her daughter's account — that the impressions he had 
received from an interview while in childhood, he had 
found it impossible to erase, which with the perusal 
of some of her late letters to his mother, had deter- 
mined hiin upon seeking to win her affections. He 
had lately established himself with flattering pros- 
pects in the practice of law, and feeling tired of the 
vanities of the world, wished to settle down with a 
companion, who could participate in the enjoyment of 
' : reasonable pursuits," and such an one to his mind's 
10 



128 GREEN MOUNTAIN LIFE. 

eye appeared Miss Sumner to be, and he solicited 
permission to cultivate an intimate acquaintance with 
her daughter. 

George had now taken his leave, and Martha was 
left to comparative loneliness. Who is there, whose 
heart has once beat to parental affection, whose bo- 
som has been cheered by a smile from brother or sister, 
but droops at the privation and inclines to hours of 
melancholy ? Martha however, found a speedy re- 
lief, for she learned from her mother that Loring 
Chilton was intending to spend a few weeks at St. 
Johns, and though he insisted that his home should 
be at the hotel, nevertheless, he became a daily vis- 
itor at " Sumner Grove," where he was ever received 
by Martha with a welcome smile. Each succeeding 
interview more fully convinced them that they were 
of congenial mould ; and he, having made a declara- 
tion of his attachment, solicited with her leave the 
consent of her parents to their union. Mrs. Sumner 
assented unhesitatingly, but her husband demurred ; 
he had rather his son-in-law, that was to be, should 
boast pure English origin. His soul was still smart- 
ing under the wound of political conquest, yet he 
turned his reflections to another point, and was re- 
minded of the sacrifice his beloved Sophia had made 
when she married an Englishman, and renounced her 
blessed home for his sake — and he consented. 

One thing yet remained — and when Chilton said, 
" Your brother, my love," she turned pale and trem- 



THE VICTIM TO AN ERROR. 129 

bled. Yet they wrote conjointly to him, soliciting in 
the most affectionate terms his presence at the cere- 
mony which was to unite their fates inseparably. 

Preparations were in forwardness for the approach- 
ing wedding, after which Mr. and Mrs. Sumner were 

to accompany the groom and his bride to M . The 

idea of a separation from their child was softened by 
a promise from Mr. Chilton, that once in two years 
she should spend three months under the parental 
roof. 

Joys of peculiar brightness are generally followed 
by unlooked for pain, and such was the realization of 
the Sumner family, when one evening the opening 
mail presented them with a letter from George. It 
was dictated in the most violent terms — forbidding his 
sister even to think of such a thing as uniting herself 
to a cursed Yankee, which was followed by threats 
and imprecations ; and to conclude, he vowed that in 
case they proceeded, he would challenge Mr. Chilton 
to deadly combat. 

The effect upon her gentle bosom was deeply 
wounding. " O ! my poor infatuated brother ! " said 
she, " we have truly much to fear from his wrath — 
he has ever moved upon my path as an ' ill fating 
star,' dooming me to frequent trials. Heaven forgive 
him!" 

Mr. Chilton stood speechless, as if paralyzed by a 
death blow. The vainly suppressed tears of his be- 
loved Martha — the agony depicted in the counte- 



130 GREEN MOUNTAIN LIFE. 

nances of her parents, together with the unjust and 
abusive epithets bestowed upon himself by her brother, 
almost deprived him of reason, and turning upon them 
one pitying look, he rushed from their presence and 
sought his own chamber, where he yielded to reflec- 
tions of the most agonizing nature. "0! what a 
world is this ! what baseness, what ingratitude — O ! 
what cruelty it carries in its bosom — affection — pure 
affection — that tender plant, to be blighted in its 
bloom, its tendrils broken, trodden under foot, bleed- 
ing hearts — tears — tears ! ! " His mind became dis- 
ordered — he paced the room, and taking up his Bible 
sought tranquillity from its pages. Unfortunately he 
opened at the 7th chapter of Job, and continued read- 
ing until he arrived at the 15th verse — " My soul 
chooseth strangling and death rather than my life. I 
loathe it," &c. He dropped the book — a dizziness 
seized his brain, and flying to his trunk he took from 
thence two handkerchiefs, which he connected by a 
knot — formed a noose, and ere returning reason came 
to his aid, had put it upon his neck, stepped upon a 
chair, fastened it to the top of the door and swung 
ofT. A few groans — a few struggles, and Loring 
Chilton, the amiable, the philanthropic, the much be- 
loved, was no more. 

In this situation he was discovered the next morn- 
ing by a maid who was superintending the chambers. 
The alarm was instantly given, the church bells 
tolled, and the intelligence soon reached the ears of 



THE VICTIM TO AN ERROR. 131 

Miss Sumner. She gave a violent scream, and rush- 
ed to the street, where, as her father and others were 
endeavoring to arrest her flight, a stage approached 
in which was seated George Sumner, with anger and 
revenge still red upon his cheek. He leaped from 
the carriage on beholding the strange scene, and 
joined in the pursuit. "Martha! Martha!" he ex- 
claimed. She instantly stopped upon hearing the 
sound of his voice, and turning around fell upon her 
knees, exclaiming, " God ! forgive the murderer — 
George you have killed him ! 1 am going to follow 

him — I shall find him at M , sweet village of 

M , and we shall yet be happy. Happy — yes, 

George, do not come there," and she sought again 
to fly. 

Every effort to restore reason was in vain, and the 
unhappy victim of a brother's error was doomed to 
chains. The anguish of her parents was intense and 
overwhelming, while her brother, with a contrition 
never before equalled, knelt beside the corpse of his 
victim, and implored the forgiveness of Heaven for 
his crime. When he attempted to approach his sis- 
ter, she loudly vociferated — " 'Twas he, 'twas he ! — 
he holds the heart of my beloved Chilton in his hand — 
O ! take him away ! " 

Thus was " Sumner Grove," the seat of joy and 

happiness, in a few short hours transformed to scenes 

of lamentation and woe. The wretched maniac was 

confined in one of its chambers, from whence the 

10* 



132 GREEN MOUNTAIN LIFE. 

sound of her delirious screams were daily heard, and 
the passing traveller not unfrequently rode up to the 
door to inquire the cause. 

Conscience stricken, and truly penitent, the unhap- 
py George, for the first time, overstepped the bound- 
ary line, and proceeded on a visit to the mourning pa- 
rents of the unfortunate Loring Chilton. His recep- 
tion, though not affectionate, was in a measure for- 
giving, and he strove by every means in his power to 
atone for a much lamented error. The Constitution 
of American Independence, which he had so mali- 
ciously reviled, he now felt himself inclined to revere, 
while the simplicity of republican manners and cus- 
toms, he adopted with enthusiasm. "O! " said he, 
"why have I adhered to a government, the laws of 
which are so humiliating, when there was one within 
my reach which extended every privilege. Were but 
my unhappy sister restored, were but — " He stop- 
ped — a tributary tear followed. 

Error may be truly repented, but cannot be recall- 
ed — it may be forgiven — yet memory ceases not to 
remind. 

George returned to his now desolate home — deso- 
late indeed — for in his absence, his father had sick- 
ened and died. Wishing to elude scenes that awak- 
ened continued regret, he sold the estate, and accom- 
panied by his mother and insane sister, returned to 

the village of M , where he purchased a seat and 

strove to render their few remaining days as pleasant 



THE VICTIM TO AN ERROR. 133 

as possible. He still lives, in a state of celibacy, but 
surrounded by a large circle of friends, to whom by his 
sorrowful, yet manly demeanor, he has greatly en- 
deared himself. 

Reader ! dost thou possess uncontrollable passions 1 
reflect upon the fate of the unhappy inmates of " Sum- 
ner Grove," and should a tear for their woes bedew 
thy cheek, resolve to seek meekness and humility, 
wisdom and virtue, that thy latter days may be bless- 
ed with peace. 



THE DELUDED. 



Henry Marvin was the son of pious parents, 
who sought by precept and example to impress upon 
the minds of their children, that " the ways of wis- 
dom are ways of pleasantness, and all her paths are 
peace." Henry possessed by nature a mild and 
amiable disposition. Though his spirits were buoy- 
ant, and inclining to gaiety, yet his judgment was 
rational and sound. 

He had attained the age of twenty-one, without 
once deviating from the paths of rectitude, and with- 
out once inflicting upon the bosoms of his parents a 
pang. His character was unsullied by a spot, and to 
the circle in which he moved, he was greatly en- 
deared. But though his bosom was the seat of every 
social virtue — though his morals had been " weighed 
in a balance, and found not wanting," yet he was a 



THE DELUDED. 135 

stranger to that grace divine, which teaches humility, 
self-abasement, and dependence on a Power Supreme. 
Being conscious of his integrity, he trusted in his 
own strength, and thus led upon the ocean of life, 
without that hope, " which is an anchor to the soul, 
both sure and steadfast," he was led into a snare, 
from which he awaked only to behold his utter 
ruin. 

As is common to most young men, who have 
lived secluded from the world — yet heard much of 
its pleasures, young Henry determined to go abroad, 
that he might feast his eyes upon those spots, to 
which on " Fancy's wing," he had often flown, and 
been regaled with ideal pleasures. He left the pa- 
ternal roof. His aged parents had implored the pro- 
tection of Heaven for their departing son, and his 
brothers had warned him to beware of the tempter. 

He went to the town of M , where he spent 

several weeks in viewing whatever curiosity came 
in his way. There he became acquainted with 
Charles Sanford, a young man of pleasing deport- 
ment, who succeeded in ingratiating himself into his 
confidence. With him he walked — with him he 
rode — and to him he imparted all the emotions of 
his heart. 



" Deluded youth ! 



'• Oh where was now thy strength, and where the arm 
" To shield thee from deception's blighting touch." 



136 GREEN MOUNTAIN LIFE. 

Though Charles Sanford had an appearance of 
possessing virtue, it was only a mask to hide an un- 
commonly vicious and corrupted heart. While he 
was artfully acting the friend, and sedulously striv- 
ing to gain the confidence of Henry Marvin, it was 
merely to win him to a participancy in crime. 

One evening, as they were walking arm in arm, 
by the light of a full moon, Henry became pensive 
and sad. Thoughts of home — of friends — of fond 
associations, which he had deserted, came upon his 
mind. He regretted that he had wandered abroad, 
and felt that the world, instead of satisfying his an- 
ticipations, was but ruffling the hitherto tranquil 
springs of his bosom. " I will return," he mentally 
exclaimed, when he was interrupted by Charles, 
who inquired, " Why do you appear so sad and des- 
ponding, my friend?" "I was thinking," said 
Henry, "of home; of all that I have deserted, to 
exist among strangers, where, were it not for you, 
I should have no one with whom to commune, or to 
unfold my heart's oppressive sensations." "You 
must not yield to such oppressions as this," said 
Charles ; "am not I a stranger too, and as far from 
those who are equally as dear ; and have not I trust- 
ed in you — and are we not like David and Jonathan 
of old, whose hearts were knit together in bonds of 
love and friendship 1 To give you a proof of the im- 
plicit confidence I place in you, I am going to impart 
a secret. You may be astonished — yet believe me, 



THE DELUDED. 137 

if you acquiesce in my wishes, it will ultimately 
prove to your high advantage." Henry remained 
silent, and Charles, after some embarrassment, pro- 
ceeded. " Only say that you will not betray me, 
and you shall be convinced that in what I am about 
to impart, I am actuated entirely by a wish for your 
advancement." Henry at length assured him that 
it was not in his nature to betray ', where he was so 
deeply obligated; and Charles grasping his arm, 
proceeded to an obscure dwelling, and conducted his 
friend to a solitary garret, where his eye rested upon 
a human form. One hasty glance unfolded the se- 
cret — he was a counterfeiter, and in that dismal abode 
was executing his nefarious scrolls, while Charles, 
as a partner, went abroad to distribute them. 

The conviction had an instantaneous effect upon 
the countenance of Henry, who retreated and would 
have fled, but Charles perceiving it, grasped his arm 
and urged him forward. "Do not be surprised," 
said he, " the scene may be novel to you, but I trust 
your good sense, after revolving the matter, will not 
style it a heinous crime. It is true the laws of our 
country have forbidden it, but nevertheless, the love 
of gain is implanted in every human bosom, and 
there are but few who hesitate to indulge in this 
natural propensity, provided they are secure from de- 
tection. The world is all a cheat — the lawyer cheats 
his client, the doctor cheats his patient, and the 
prie3t his reverencing flock. Yet all are looking to 



138 GREEN MOUNTAIN LIFE. 

a higher tribunal than this earth can produce for a 
mutual pardon and forgiveness. Two years I have 
followed this trade, in which time I have amassed a 
competence, yet has suspicion never rested upon me. 
I now make you the offer of equal partnership, pro- 
vided you will share with me the toil of distribu- 
tion." 

Henry sank back into a seat, closed his eyes, and 
for a few moments seemed to be in a deep reverie. 
" If he has escaped suspicion, why may not I escape 
detection," he said to himself. " I will engage for 
a few weeks to supply my present exigencies, and 
then I will abandon it, and by a course of strict honor, 
heal the breach upon my own conscience." 

He assented — he took the fatal roll — but alas ! 
poor deluded Henry ! — ere the twilight of the suc- 
ceeding eve had thrown its dusky mantle upon those 
desecrated walls where he had listened to the " voice 
of the charmer" and first forsaken the paths of 
virtue, he was brought back a prisoner. 

A court of inquiry was held, but he made no de- 
fence, for he was self convicted. In a few weeks he 
listened to his sentence — "seven years confinement 
at hard labor in the State's prison." This was too 
much for his sensibility to support", and he sunk 
senseless upon the floor. Every eye glistened with 
the tear of sympathy for this deluded and heart- 
stricken young man. But no Charles Sanford ap- 
peared to offer consolation in this trying hour — the 



THE DELUDED. 139 

friend whom he had ruined, he also forsook, though 
his own safety was preserved by the fidelity of his 
victim. 

Henry was conveyed to that dreaded abode, the 
State's prison, and when he entered and heard its 
massive portals close upon him, he felt as if eternally 
cut off from all human associations, and from all 
earthly hopes. " Oh my father ! Oh my mother ! " 
he exclaimed — it is I who am bringing your grey 
hairs down with sorrow to the grave. Why did I 
not listen to your faithful admonitions — why have I 
neglected to seek the blessing and protection of 
Heaven 1 — then — then I should not have been brought 
to this." He became the victim of intense melan- 
choly. His physical powers yielded to grief, and in 
a short time he was extended upon his straw pallet, 
with no friend to administer a cordial, or to soothe the 
burning fever of his brain and wipe the cold sweat 
from his brow. But at length his mother arrived, 
and was introduced to the cell of her dying son. 
Language has no power to portray the affecting 
scene. Death had alrerdy set his mark upon his 
pallid features, yet upon seeing his mother, a smile 
once more partially illumed them, as she held him in 
an embrace. But sympathy came too late — the 
heart-strings were broken by sorrow. "Dearest 
mother," said he, "I see now how frail and de- 
pendent a creature is man. I left you trusting in my 
own strength - , regardless of that Supreme Power 
11 



140 GREEN MOUNTAIN LIFE. 

who upholds the mountains by His strength, or rives 
the earth as He will. I see how fallacious were my 
self-created hopes, and in this my dying hour, I for- 
give the author of my ruin, in consequence of the 
errors I have been broaght to see, through his means, 
which enables me to put my trust in a crucified 
Redeemer, before whom I shall shortly appear." 

Thus closed the life of Henry Marvin. His re- 
mains were conveyed to the place of his nativity, 
where they were bedewed with bitter tears of grief, 
and interred beside his kindred ; where, upon a mar- 
ble slab at his head, is the following inscription : — 

SACRED 
TO THE MEMORY OF HENRY MARVIN. 

Aged 22 years. 

The memory of his error, is 
Effaced by tears. 



DE OLON. 



The authoress begs permission to transport the 
reader from New England to the plains and forest 
of Germany, — 

Where titles rule, and passions rage, 
And men in deadly strife engage. 

On the confines of Germany and Austria, near 
those immense forests which cover the continuous 
mountains and adjacent country, lived the Baron de 
Olon — a powerful nobleman whose influence in the 
German confederation, was vast and decisive. Like 
others of his cotemporaries, he was possessed of a 
high spirit and a haughty demeanor, impatient of re- 
straint, and overbearing in command. 



142 GREEN MOUNTAIN LIFE. 

In early life, he had married a daughter of the 
Duke of B , an amiable and tender lady, possess- 
ing all those refinements incident to high birth, and 
superior education ; by whom, in the course of a few 
years, he found himself blessed with two sons — the 
elder being then twelve years old, and the younger 
advancing upon two. 

As the little fair haired Edgar was one day per- 
forming his equestrian feats through the parlor, he 
approached the hearth, and making a misstep fell upon 
a hot iron, which afterwards healing, left upon his 
bosom a scar in the form of a cross, which by the nu- 
merous prognosticators who visited his father's castle 
was pronounced a favorable and very important omen. 
The child being of an easy and playful turn, was left 
one day alone in the little yard before the door, for its 
amusement, when Lady de Olon returning a few mo- 
ments after to look to her charge, was greatly 
alarmed to find him missing. The alarm was instant- 
ly given, and the domestics sent in every direction, in 
search of the supposed wanderer — yet no trace of him 
could be discovered. The agony of the parents be- 
came intense beyond description, and immense sums 
of gold were offered to any who should restore their 
idolized child to their arms, with the addition of office 
and honors, yet it availed naught, and they were left to 
mourn his mysterious exit. 

Near the dwelling of the Baron, lived a person by 
the name of Rudolph Pelozzi — a man of gigantic 



DF OLON. 143 

form — whose ambitious soul was united with a savage 
disposition. Possessing a moderate fortune, he 
sought by the indulgence of his ambitious propensi- 
ties to pull down the power of his superiors. Be- 
tween him and the Baron, there had for many years 
existed a feeling of enmity, which took its rise from 
various little petty feuds, until it finally eventuated in 
a mutual and settled hatred. Fifteen years subse- 
quently to the loss of his child, in consequence of 
some vague expressions that escaped the lips of Pe- 
lozzi, the Baron saw proper to prosecute him as an 
accessary to the murder, and though the charge could 
not be fully and substantially proved, yet such was 
the conviction left upon the minds of his judges, that 
the Baron procured his banishment from the king- 
dom, together with the confiscation of his property 
and effects. He complied with his sentence, while 
denunciations of revenge streamed from his lips, and a 
demoniac fire blazed from his eyes. The Baron did 
not long survive the banishment of his enemy, and his 
only remaining son was left to inherit his honors. 
This youth was possessed of a mild, affable disposi- 
tion, in many respects entirely opposite to that of his 
deceased parent. Instead of that masculine spirit 
which led his father to conquer and trample on the 
rights of others, he yielded his peaceful disposition to 
the pleasures of the chase, and sought by amicably 
. dispensing his invitations to the neighboring nobles, 
11* 



144 GREEN MOUNTAIN LIEE. 

to convince them of his friendly intentions, and deter- 
minations to infringe on the rights of no one. 

Having one bright summer morning assembled a 
large party, he led the way to an adjoining forest for 
a chase, and was followed by his retinue in glittering 
arms, accompanied by their ardent hounds, whose 
deep cry, as they bounded forward, resounded with 
echoing peals thro' the branches of the forest trees 
to the surrounding hills. It was the prevailing cus- 
tom in those days, when the game was abundant, for 
each hunter to follow his own favorite hound, and 
when distanced from his companions, to retrace his 
course by the sounding of horns. Philo, the Baron's 
favorite hound, soon started a large buck, and he 
made after him in swift pursuit. The animal turned 
suddenly the angle of a hill, took an opposite direc- 
tion from those of his fold, pursued by others, and 
steered directly toward the borders of Austria. It 
was high noon ere they reached the stream — which, 
narrow, is nevertheless, the only divisionary line, at 
a certain place, between two important kingdoms — 
where, finding his steed still in high spirits, and con- 
sidering the game almost within his grasp, he ap- 
proached the bank, when to his utter astonishment, 
his horse stopped short and refused to proceed. He 
applied the spur to his gory side to no purpose, and 
quite exasperated by the animal's obstinacy, " Hun- 
ter," said he, " what evil trick is this you choose to. 
play upon your master," at the same time beating 



DE OLON. 145 

him over the head, " I hope thy brain hath not be- 
come infected with omens of ill to thy master ; thou 
shall proceed," and reining him up severely, the ani- 
mal rushed suddenly into the stream, and neighing 
with frightful sound, made a few plunges, and stood 
on the opposite shore. The Baron stopped to listen 
to his dog, but the sound had died away, and in a few 
moments Philo returned whining and crouching to his 
master, under manifest feelings of disappointment and 
chagrin, — for in crossing the stream, the animal had 
gained, and darting into a thicket, poor Philo, in fol- 
lowing, had become bewildered, and lost the scent, 
while the lucky hind fled to the mountains. 

The Baron, disappointed of his game, began to look 
around, and presently saw that a storm was approach- 
ing. The sky was already overcast with dark por- 
tentious clouds, and Heaven's artillery was roaring on 
the distant horizon. Every appearance was indica- 
tive of a violent storm, and excited as his feelings had 
been for a few moments by the unusual manner of his 
horse, together with the unlucky termination of his 
chase, he could not overcome a secret dread of some- 
thing, which crept with stealth upon his nerves. He 
sat a moment as if irresolute as to what course he 
should pursue, when casting his eye up the stream, 
he fancied he saw the shadow of a tenement, and 
upon a closer inspection, saw the turrets of a castle 
rising above the green foliage of the massy tree tops. 
"Ah ! well, 'tis lucky," said he, " come Hunter, and 



146 GREEN MOUNTAIN LIFE. 

we'll try the hospitality of yonder mansion, which 
hiding itself in the forest, would seem to bespeak its 
owner as little disposed to exchange courtesies, or to 
open his gates to the votaries of a gay world." He 
turned his head in order to proceed, but the animal 
again proved refractory: — " If you refuse to go, I will 
leave you to brave the storm as you are," said he, 
and dismounting, tied him to a tree, and giving a 
whistle to Philo by way of invitation to accompany 
him, soon stood before the gate. A man was sitting 
near the entrance, when the Baron accosted him with, 
" Sire, a storm is approaching, — wilt thou condescend 
to favor a stranger with shelter till it is past"?" " May 
be I will," answered a gruff voice — " walk in, if thou 
wilt." The sound lingered upon the Baron's ear, as 
he thought the voice was familiar, and scrutinizing 
the features from whence it. proceeded, he recognized 
the dreaded outlaw, Pelozzi ! 

He entered, and seating himself on a bench, began 
to take observations of the room and its furniture. It 
was lined with coarse tapestry — on one side stood an 
antique, and half dislocated table, and in a corner 
stood a glittering fowling piece, while near it, upon 
the wall, hung suspended a sword. Opposite him, 
on the remains of a ruined sofa, sat his host, with his 
small, black and piercing eyes fixed with riveted gaze 
upon his own. The Baron felt an involuntary shud- 
der, as he recoiled from the gaze, and saw him in the 
attitude of speaking. " If I am not mistaken," said 



DE OLON. M7 

he, " the guest whom I have the honor to recieve is 
the young Baron de Olonl" " The same," replied 
the Baron. " I am the outlaw, Rudolph Pelozzi, 
whose ruin and banishment were effected by the tyran- 
ny of your father ! I have sworn revenge, — I have 
vowed it in the sight of heaven itself, and joy thrills 
through my heart's inmost recess for this favorable 
opportunity to effect it. I have long sought it, and 
never till now has my object been obtained. The 
blood of the son shall atone for the injuries of the 
father." " What !" said the Baron, " do you intend 
to murder, in cold blood, the guest who has innocently 
sought your mansion as a shelter from the storm?" 
" Thou earnest not self-willed," he replied — that hea- 
ven who heard and approbated my vow, sent thee as 
a martyr to appease the vengeance that has so long 
boiled in my veins. As Pelozzi lives, so true shalt 
thou die by his hand." " I die not alone, perhaps," 
said the Baron, at the same time snatching a pistol 
from his bosom and pointing it at Pelozzi 's breast — it 
missed fire, and he indignantly dashed it to the floor, 
while Pelozzi with a demoniac smile approached, and 
saying, " are you yet sure that I shall go with you V 
and gave a shrill whistle, which almost instantly filled 
the room with armed men. The Baron was immedi- 
ately surrounded, disarmed and bound. " The Baron 
de Olon, gentlemen," said Pelozzi — " my enemy, and 

yours; revenge shall " At this moment a side 

door opened, and a youth of most prepossessing ap- 



148 GREEN MOUNTAIN LIFE. 

pearance entered, hesitatingly. " Father," said he, 
" who is this stranger whom you have in such loud 
words doomed to certain death V 9 " He is," said Pe- 

lozzi, "The son of my deadliest enemy and" 

" But surely, dear father, the crime of the father 
must not injure the son; — what is his fate?" "In 
two days at farthest, when he has sufficiently felt the 
grasp of my power, his head shall fall from his body." 
" Then your son " " Hold ! — leave the room in- 
stantly !" said Pelozzi. The youth obeyed with 
trembling steps, but as he was about to close the door, 
cast upon the stranger a look, seemingly fraught with 
the purest of sympathy, and retired. 

" Pelontho," said Pelozzi — " You shall be the ex- 
ecutioner, and to you I commit the prisoner — if he es- 
capes, your life shall pay the forfeit." " You know 
whom to trust," replied the bandit, as he rudely took 
the Baron by the arm to lead him to a dungeon. 
" Confine him in the executioner's room," said the 
chief. As they were passing to another apartment, 
Philo attempted to follow, but Pelozzi caught him, 
and dashing him back, " stop, hound," said he, " one 
dog is enough to sacrifice at once ; get you hence, and 
carry the news of your master's fate to his clan !" 
and so saying turned him out. 

The Baron as he entered the gloomy apartment, 
started, on beholding for his seat, a rude block, stained 
with human blood, upon which his own in all human 
probability was shortly to flow. The bandit soon left 



DE OLON. 149 

him, locking the door with a double bolt, and stationed 
himself in the passage. The night closed in — the 
storm, which had lingered, now beat with violence 
against the dilapidated walls of the castle, and its very 
foundations seemed to shake, while the flashes of 
lightning, darting through the iron shutters, made 
visible the gloom of his desolate prison. But at 
length, shutting his eyes, he turned a deaf ear to the 
noisy elements without, while he yielded to a train of 
solemn reflections. His hours he viewed as certain- 
ly numbered — no chance for escape seemed possible — 
his mind flitted back to his home — his domestic fire- 
side, where he beheld his Celestina, with their little 
Edgar, and his widowed mother, sitting in a listening 
posture, anxiously waiting to catch the sound of his 
footsteps. The strange conduct of his horse next 
occupied his mind, and he viewed its instinctive pow- 
ers almost certainly in some way capable of divina- 
tion. The image of his faithful dog came also — and 
oh ! thought he — will he return to his accustomed 
cell, — will he conduct some one to my rescue ? Over- 
come with reflections like these, he at length fell into 
a broken slumber, and visions of various forms floated 
around his pillow. At one time he fancied an angel 
in form of the youth — whose feeling soul beamed in 
his retiring glance — approached and loosed the chains 
with which he was bound, and opening the prison 
doors, restored him to liberty. Thus he passed the 
first night and a part of the second day, with a mind 



150 GREEN MOUNTAIN LIFE. 

agitated by continual dread, alternately dreaming and 
waking, until he was suddenly aroused by the sound 
of horses' feet approaching the castle. The watch- 
word was immediately sounded, and preparations for 
defence ensued. Pelozzi's voice was next heard, 
commanding Pelontho, that should the object of the 
approaching party be to relieve the prisoner, to strike 
his head immediately from his body. 

The party, consisting of twenty armed men, rode 
up, and demanded to know if the Baron de Olon was 
in that Castle. Pelozzi, who met them, replied 
" No /" "Do not deceive us," replied the leader — 
" yonder, a few rods distant, we found his horse, and 
Philo, his favorite hound, has conducted us here." 
" Curse on the dog," muttered Pelozzi ; and again 
the horsemen demanded to know if the Baron was in 
that castle. " If you discredit my assertion," said 
Pelozzi, " seek him at your peril." " That we will," 
replied the foremost — and as Pelozzi hastily closed 
and barred the door, they rushed against it, which 
soon yielded to their force ; but there was yet a strong 
barricade behind it, where the bandits to the number 
of thirty, stood sword in hand to repel the assault — and 
such was the desperation with which they fought, 
that in a few moments, not one was left standing, 
save their chief, and he at last dropped through faint- 
ness from the loss of blood. 

But we now return to our prisoner, who had over- 
heard the command given to Pelontho to strike off 



DE OLON. 151 

his head, &c. The ruffian approached and seizing 
his victim, attempted to drag him to the block ; a se- 
vere struggle ensued, and the Baron, encumbered 
with his chains, was forced at last to yield. Pelon- 
tho laid his head on the block, and placing his foot on 
his breast, raised high the ponderous axe, to sever 
his head at a blow — when, " Hold !" cried a voice 
behind him. The executioner turned his head, and 
the next moment it laid on the floor. A blow from 
the person behind had cleft it from his body. The 
Baron raised his eyes, as if he expected to meet the 
realities of another world, and beheld the lovely form 
of the youth bending over him, who, with a trembling 
hand, released him from his chains, and gently raising 
him from the ground, requested him to follow. They 
proceeded immediately to the scene of slaughter, 
where the Baron instantly recognized his own friends 
and followers, and as he approached to give them 
welcome, his ear was saluted by the beastly voice of 
Pelozzi, saying, " thank heaven, my enemy is beyond 
your reach." " Not yet," replied the Baron. Pe- 
lozzi's eyes flashed, and grasping his sword, attempt- 
ed to rise, but the victors interfered, and he was soon 
placed in the same chains from which the Baron had 
been released. 

The youth was now presented by the Baron to his 
friends as the preserver of his life : " Yes," said he, 
had it not been for his outstretched arm, your exer- 
tions must have been in vain, for 1 even now seem to 
12 



152 GREEN MOUNTAIN LIFE. 

see the horrid axe as it gleamed over my head, and 
hear the blow which prostrated my adversary. " The 
company now left the scene of carnage, and entered 
the hall, where a table of refreshments was standing 
in readiness to feast the bandits, before which they 
seated themselves and partook heartily, all save the 
youth, who seated by de Olon, refused to eat, and 
appeared deeply absorbed with painful reflections. 
"By what appellation shall we distinguish you?" 
said the Baron to the youth. " Gerardo," he replied, 
and remained silent. It was now concluded to re- 
main at the castle that night, in order to dispose of 
the bodies of the slain ; and mean time the Baron re- 
quested to be informed in what manner they pro- 
cured a trace of his ill-fated course. " For this we 
are indebted to your faithful dog," was the reply. 
We had no serious apprehension on your account 
until near night- fall, when our horns were sounded in 
every direction, but to no purpose. We returned to 
the castle, and soon after, to our surprise, we saw 
Philo approaching unattended by his master. It was 
ten in the evening — of course we deemed it prudent 
to defer our search till the morning, and as soon as 
light was visible in the east, we mounted, and Philo, 
leaping and barking for joy, led the way to the forest 
Knowing his attachment to you, we did not hesitate 
to follow his track, and on reaching the river, he 
stopped to see if we were disposed to follow, and in- 
stantly crossed, where, upon coming up with him, we 



DE OLON. 153 

found him caressing your horse — who was there fas- 
tened to a bush." 

Morning at length approached, and found the Baron 
and his company still in the hall, nodding in their 
chairs, from which state they were aroused by Gerar- 
do, and proceeded immediately to the interment of the 
dead. A pit being dug sufficiently large for the 
whole, they were thrown in one after another, until 
it was filled. For some moments, all were silent, — 
at length the Baron spoke, " My friends," said he, 
" though these men by their dereliction from the paths 
of virtue and honor, have justly merited their doom, 
yet shall not we, whose hearts are endowed with feel- 
ings of philanthropy, award to them the "soldier's 
farewell'?" All gave their assent, and loading their 
pistols with blank cartridges, Pelozzi was brought out 
to witness the scene — when closing themselves around 
the grave, they fired in succession, and gave three 
cheers, while the solemn echo resounded from hill to 
hill, and died away in the distant forest. Tears trick- 
led from Pelozzi's cheeks, " I would to Heaven, my 
companions," said he, " that I could rest with thee." 
Gerardo was affected, arid covering his face with his 
hands, turned from the scene. 

The company was now soon in readiness to return. 
Pelozzi was mounted on a horse, with his hands 
bound, and the youth, not being considered a prison- 
er, rode beside the Baron, who felt himself peculiarly 
interested in the demeanor of his deliverer. They 



154 GREEN MOUNTAIN LIFE. 

rode some distance in silence, which was at last bro- 
ken by Gerardo. "Baron," said he, "since the 
fierce rebuke my father gave me in your presence the 
other day, I have not dared to speak with him — yet 
words are inadequate to express the agony I feel to 
see him thus a prisoner. An ignominious death 
doubtless awaits him, and though I have for some 
months resolved on leaving him, yet my nature can- 
not endure to see him expire on the scaffold." The 
Baron smiled, as he replied — " my noble friend, he 
shall be pardoned for your sake, and you shall be my 
adopted brother, and share, conjointly, all my priv- 
ileges and honors. Thus will I endeavor to atone for 
the injuries which my father may have entailed upon 
yours." 

They had arrived near the castle ; the news of 
their approach had preceded them, and the church 
bells were ringing, and every demonstration of lively 
joy was to be heard. Lady de Olon, accompanied by 
his mother and a numerous retinue, came out to meet 
him who, in imagination, they had consigned to 
another world. When the burst of feeling was past, 
the Baron taking Gerardo by the hand — " Behold, 
mother," said he, " the preserver of my life ; let him 
henceforth supply the place of the lost Edgar ! ' ' 
' ' Ah ! my son ! ' ' she replied , ' ' you rekindle painful 
recollections ! This youth can never supply the place 
of my lamented Edgar, but I will cherish him, for 
your sake," — then looking earnestly at Gerardo — 



DE OLON. 155 

"What does it mean! — do my eyes deceive me? 
surely, he very strongly resembles you, my son ! 
Say you not so, Celestina? " " Certainly, yes," she 
replied — " His hair and eyes are the same ! " Ge- 
rardo smiled at the supposed compliment and was 
silent. 

The Baron had determined on releasing his prisoner 
the following morning, and accompanied by Gerardo 
repaired at an early hour, to the place of his confine- 
ment. " Pelozzi !" said the Baron, "the part you 
have acted, as it regards myself, is unmanly and 
brutish. The laws both of God and man, would jus- 
tify me in putting you to death, — yet for the sake of 
your son, who has generously saved my life, I give 
you pardon, and set you free on condition that you 
flee immediately to distant dominions, and give me 
your promise never again to set your foot on Ger- 
many's soil — and to remember, in your future inter- 
course with fellow mortals, the mercy I now extend 
to you." " My thanks for your lenity," Pelozzi re- 
plied, " I may yet live to no matter" — " Not to 

revenge I hope," said the Baron, and rising with 
Gerardo, left the room. Soon after he sent a domes- 
tic to conduct the prisoner to the court yard, where 
upon enteiing, he beheld Gerardo sitting beside de 
Olon, awaiting his approach. " My son ! " said Pe- 
lozzi, " wilt thou accompany thy wretched father? " 
" No, father — Gerardo would choose a different pro- 
fession from that which you have labored to instruct 



12 



156 GREEN MOUNTAIN LIFE. 

him iii — yet I trust we shall meet again." " Never ! " 
said Pelozzi — " If we part, let me embrace you, and 
then — farewell." Gerardo arose and threw his arms 
around his father's neck in an affectionate embrace. 
At that instant Pelozzi drew a concealed dagger, and 
made a sudden thrust at his breast, which the Baron 
discovering, instantly caught his arm, and thus ward- 
ed the blow, which fortunately preserved Gerardo's 
life — then drawing his own sword, " Perjured vil- 
lain ! wretch ! " said he, " another attempt like this, 
and you shall feel my sword in your vile heart's 
core ! " "I fear it not," said Pelozzi, " while re- 
venge thus eludes my efforts, — still my blood boils," 
and raising high the dagger, which he still grasped, 
plunged it deep into his own bosom, fell, and instantly 
expired. " Oh my father ! " said Gerardo, and faint- 
ed. He was carried immediately into the castle, and 
a physician procured, who thought it advisable to 
open a vein. The Baron's mother, in attempting to 
remove his vesture, for the purpose, discovered upon 
his neck a scar, resembling a cross. "Gracious 
Heavens ! " she exclaimed — " observe that scar, pre- 
cisely like the one which marked the neck of my lost 
Edgar." The Baron looked at his mother in amaze- 
ment, and became speechless from emotion. Gerardo 
slowly recovered. " How came you by that scar on 
your neck?" said lady de Olon. "I cannot tell," 
he replied, "it occurred before my remembrance — 
but my god-mother said it was the effect of a burn." 



DE OLON. 157 

" Who was your god-mother?" A blush suffused 
his cheek as he replied, — " Though I shall by satis- 
fying your demand, inform you of the lov/ness of my 
origin, yet I deem it a pleasure to oblige my benefac- 
tors. I was brought up from infancy among a class 
of people who were designated as Gypsies. My god- 
mother's name was Salina Agnessaus, with whom I 
lived from earliest remembrance, till seventeen years 
of age — when I was introduced to my father, the ill 
fated Rudolph Pelozzi — who, it was said, had just 
returned from a foreign country. I was for some 
time very shy of him, doubting his right to call me 
son, as I had never before heard him named. But 
my apprehensions were at length satisfied, by their 
assurance that they had long supposed him dead. 
My father" — at that instant a servant entered and 
said an old woman stood at the gate and earnestly de- 
sired an immediate interview with the Baron and his 
mother — stating that she had news of the utmost im- 
portance to communicate. " Admit her and conduct 
her to the audience chamber," said the Baron. He 
soon returned, followed by a singular figure, who 
making low obeisance, seated herself in a chair, by 
the entrance. " Who are you?" said the Baron, 
"and what can be your business with us ? " She 
arose and approaching the Lady de Olon, fell on her 
knees, exclaiming — " Oh forgive! — forgive! — no — 
I must not ask pardon of those whom I have so 
deeply injured." "Injured'?" said the Baron, — 



158 GREEN MOUNTAIN LIFE. 

" we know of no injury you have done us ! " "Oh 
that I could make atonement ! — you know not what a 
viper I am — behold then the wretch who robbed a 
mother of her darling child ! Salina Agnessaus is 
before you ! Prompted by a spirit, yet more evil 
than my own, I was induced to deprive you of the 
lovely flower, around which I knew your hopes and 
affections were twined." "Is it possible!" said 
Lady de Olon, " that you knew the fate of my child'? 
and does he yet live ? " " He does — but allow me to 
proceed. You cannot have forgotten the enmity 
which existed so long between your husband, the 
Baron de Olon, and Rudolph Pelozzi. He, with 
fiend-like disposition, sought revenge in the depriva- 
tion of your child, the little Edgar. With promises 
of reward, I was induced to get possession of the 
child, which I effected in the following manner. 
Passing one morning, I observed him playing in the 
yard, and snatching him up, I suffocated his cries 
with my apron, and hurried to the nearest wood, 
where I rejoined my companions, and according to 
Pelozzi's directions wandered to a distance. Having 
heard of the immense reward offered for his return , 
I was on the point of accepting it, but was deterred 
by his threats and renewed offers. From that hour I 
was doomed to harbor a guilty conscience. I looked 
at the charms of the noble child, and would fain have 
blessed his parents by presenting him to their arms, 
yet was deterred by a fear of Pelozzi's well known 



DE OLON. 159 

disposition to revenge. In this way passed fifteen 
years of my life, when Pelozzi suddenly reappeared 
among us. He seemed sullen and dejected, and re- 
lated to us the story of his banishment, together with 
his future plans. His future life, he said, should be 
devoted entirely to the object of obtaining revenge on 
the de Olon family — that he purposed joining a so- 
ciety of banditti, to whom he would introduce Ge- 
rardo, (the name I had given the boy,) which was to 
be his future profession. In a short time, he depart- 
ed with Gerardo for an old castle on the confines of 

Austria, where they still reside and " Gracious 

heavens ! " exclaimed the Baroness — " it is our lost 
Edgar ! " "I think it must be him," said her son, 
"for the coincidences are striking." "Pelozzi," 
said the Baron, " lies dead, in a corner of my court 
yard, where he fell by his own hand." " Heaven be 
praised, that justice has at last overtaken him ! " said 

the woman, "bat Gerardo " " is in this castle," 

said his mother, " and alive ! " — " He is .' " — " Oh 
that I could once more behold his face and receive 
his forgiveness ! then would I die in peace." "I 
will conduct you to him — follow me," said the Baron. 
On entering the apartment, Gerardo raised his eyes, 
and they fell upon the well known features of his 
god-mother. He sprang forward, exclaiming, " what 
can have brought you hither, Salina Agnessaus? " 
"To ask your forgiveness, and die!" said she, — 
" Oh forgive, if you can, the vile woman, whom your 



160 GREEN MOUNTAIN LIFE. 

tender lips were taught to call mother ! but who in 
reality was the monster who deprived you of riches, 
honors and happiness ! " "If you ha/ve wronged me, 
Salina, I know it not," he replied — " but a grateful 
sense of your tender attentions to me in childhood, 
still animates my bosom with affectionate regard." 
" Hear me," she said, " while I declare in presence 
of all these witnesses, that you are not Gerardo, but 
Edgar, the true and lawful son of the deceased Baron 
de Olon, and this his injured lady." Lady de Olon 
could contain her emotions no longer, but rushing 
forward, fell on the neck of her son, exclaiming — 
"My Edgar! my long lost Edgar! thou art again 
restored, and joy and peace shall once more revisit 
the bosom of thy widowed mother ! ' ' 

Overcome by intensity of feeling, Edgar wept 
profusely, and gently raising his mother, he assured 
her of his happiness by this mysterious developement, 
together with his filial regards. A cordial and happy 
embrace followed between the Baron and his ac- 
knowledged brother, and co-heir, which extended to 
his Celestina, and the little smiling namesake, who 
climbed the knee of his strange uncle, to solicit af- 
fection's kiss. Joy rang through every apartment of 
the castle, and Lords and Ladies assembled to offer 
their congratulation. Illuminations followed, and 
never perhaps, did joy, so pure, so unalloyed, rise 
from the dark, the mysterious depths of adversity, as 
that which resounded at De Olon Castle. 



H 77 78'* 







Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
Neutralizing Agent: Magnesium Oxide 
Treatment Date: 

MAY W8 
PBKKEEFER 

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